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B E R K E L E Y"\

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF I

CALIFORNIA J

«._ ^/

THE LIBRARY

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

GIFT OF

Wallace Rowland

K.T.

WE CATCHED A LOT OF THE NICEST FISH YOU EVER SEE"

TOM SAWYER ABROAD
TOM SAWYER, DETECTIVE

AND OTHER STORIES
ETC., ETC.

BY MARK TWAIN

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

UNIFORM EDITION OF
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS

Red Cloth. Crown 8vo.

CHRISTIAN SCIENCE. Illustrated. $-75

THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT, Etc. .75

A CONNECTICUT YANKEE. Illustrated. .75

HUCKLEBERRY FINN. Illustrated. .75

PRINCE AND PAUPER. Illustrated. .75

LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI. Illustrated. .75
THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG,

Etc. Illustrated. .75

TOM SAWYER ABROAD, Etc. Illustrated. .75

ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER. Illustrated. .75

PUDD'NHEAD WILSON. Illustrated. .75

SKETCHES NEW AND OLD. Illustrated. .75

THE $30,000 BEQUEST, Etc. Illustrated. .75

INNOCENTS ABROAD. Illustrated. .00

ROUGHING IT. Illustrated. .00

A TRAMP ABROAD. Illustrated. .00

THE GILDED AGE. Illustrated. .00

FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR. Illustrated. .00

JOAN OF ARC. Illustrated. .50

Other Books by Mark Twain
CAPTAIN STORMFIELD'S VISIT TO HEAVEN.

With Frontispiece. $1.00

EDITORIAL WILD OATS. Illustrated. i.oo

A HORSE'S TALE. Illustrated. i.oo

EXTRACTS FROM ADAM'S DIARY. Illustrated, i.oo

EVE'S DIARY. Illustrated. i.oo

A DOG'S TALE. Illustrated. i.oo

THE JUMPING FROG. Illustrated. -.00

How TO TELL A STORY, Etc. 1.50
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED DETECTIVE STORY.

Illustrated. i . 50
Is SHAKESPEARE DEAD? net 1.25

GIFT

c/57

CONTENTS

TOM SAWYER ABROAD

CHAP. PAGE

I. TOM SEEKS NEW ADVENTURES 3

II. THE BALLOON ASCENSION 13

III. TOM EXPLAINS 20

IV. STORM ' 29

V. LAND 34

VI. IT'S A CARAVAN . 42

VII. TOM RESPECTS THE FLEA 48

VIII. THE DISAPPEARING LAKE 56

IX. TOM DISCOURSES ON THE DESERT ...... 66

X. THE TREASURE-HILL 73

XL THE SAND-STORM 81

XII. JIM STANDING SIEGE 92

XIII. GOING FOR TOM'S PIPE 103

TOM SAWYER, DETECTIVE 115

THE STOLEN WHITE ELEPHANT . .191

SOME RAMBLING NOTES OF AN IDLE EXCURSION. 217

THE FACTS CONCERNING THE RECENT CARNIVAL
OF CRIME IN CONNECTICUT 277

ABOUT MAGNANIMOUS- INCIDENT LITERATURE . 298
PUNCH, BROTHERS, PUNCH 306

648

PAGE

THE GREAT REVOLUTION IN PITCAIRN .... 313
ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING .... 327

THE CANVASSER'S TALE 334

AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN INTERVIEWER. . . .342

PARIS NOTES 348

LEGEND OF SAGENFELD, IN GERMANY 351

SPEECH ON THE BABIES 360

SPEECH ON THE WEATHER 364

CONCERNING THE AMERICAN LANGUAGE. ... 368
ROGERS 373

THE LOVES OF ALONZO FITZ CLARENCE AND
ROSANNAH ETHELTON 379

MAP OF PARIS 405

LETTER READ AT A DINNER . 408

ILLUSTRATIONS

TOM SAWYER ABROAD

"A LOT OF THE NICEST FISH YOU EVER SEE" . . Frontispiece
"WE WENT OUT IN THE WOODS ON THE HILL". . Facing page IO

"HE SAID HE WOULD SAIL AROUND THE GLOBE". " l6

"AND HERE WAS NIGHT COMING ON!" .... " l8

"HE SAID HE WOULD KEEP UP THIS GAIT" ... " 28

"' YOU WANT TO LEAVE ME '" " 30

"THE THUNDER BOOMED, AND THE LIGHTNING

GLARED, AND THE WIND SCREAMED". ... " 32

"'RUN! RUN FO' YO' LIFE!'" " 38

"AND THERE WAS THE LION, A-RIPPING AROUND". " 40

"WE SWOOPED DOWN, NOW, ALL OF A SUDDEN" . " 42

"THE LAST MAN TO GO SNATCHED UP A CHILD". . " 44

"WE COME A-WHIZZING DOWN" " 46

" 'AND WHERE'S YOUR RAILROAD, 'LONGSIDE OF A

FLEA?'" " 48

"'WHERE'S YOUR MAN NOW?'" " 50

"THAT FLEA WOULD BE PRESIDENT" " 52

"WE OPENED THE BOX " " 58

"THE LIONS AND TIGERS WAS SORTING OUT THE

CLOTHES" " 64

THE CAMEL-DRIVER IN THE TREASURE-CAVE . . . Facing page 74

IN THE SAND-STORM

"'GOO-GOO — GOO-GOO'"
"FETCHING ANOTHER HOWL"
"KEPT ME UP 'MOST ALL NIGHT"
OUR LAWYER

''SET DOWN,' SAYS THE JUDGE"
' ' A MURDER WAS DONE*"

" WHEN THEY DANCED WE JOINED IN " " g4

THE WEDDING PROCESSION « g£

JIM STANDING A SIEGE " ^

RESCUE OF JIM «« 9g

MAP " 108

HOMEWARD BOUND « IIO

TOM SA WYER, DE TECTIVE

''I RECKON I GOT TO BE EXCUSED*". . " jjg

"'SWEAR YOU'LL BE GOOD TO ME'" ... <« I24

"'SOUNDED LIKE COCKING A GUN!'" ..... « I26

' ' WE STOOD UP AND WAITED, PERFECTLY STILL ' " 130

' 'SEARCHED HIS SEAMS AND HIS POCKETS'". . " I34

"WALKED ASHORE" ........... «« I36

"IT WAS JAKE DUNLAP'S GHOST" ...... " J^Q

•' 'WAS THE GHOST BAREFOOTED?'" ...... «• T^

"SMOKED AND STUFFED WATERMELON" .... I5O

"HUCK, IT'S GONE!" ........... «' I52

"'WHAT DOES HE THINK?" ........ «• c

VI 1

"'I STRUCK TO KILL'" Facing page iSo

" AND THERE WAS THE MURDERED MAN ". . , . " l82

"WHICH MADE HIM FEEL UNCOMMONLY BULLY" . " 184

14 TOM GIVE HALF OF IT TO ME". . " l88

MAP OF PARIS
MAP OF PARIS Page 407

TOM SAWYER ABROAD

CHAPTER I

TOM SEEKS NEW ADVENTURES

Do you reckon Tom Sawyer was satisfied after all them
adventures ? I mean the adventures we had down the river,
and the time we set the darky Jim free and Tom got shot
in the leg. No, he wasn't. "It only just p'isoned him for
more. That was all the effect it had. You see, when we
three came back up the river in glory, as you may say,
from that long travel, and the village received us with a
torchlight procession and speeches, and everybody hurrah'd
and shouted, it made us heroes, and that was what Tom
Sawyer had always been hankering to be.

For a while he was satisfied. Everybody made much of
him, and he tilted up his nose and stepped around the town
as though he owned it. Some called him Tom Sawyer the
Traveller, and that just swelled him up fit to bust. You see
he laid over me and Jim considerable, because we only went
down the river on a raft and came back by the steamboat,
but Tom went by the steamboat both ways. The boys en
vied me and Jim a good deal, but land ! they just knuckled
to the dirt before TOM.

Well, I don't know ; maybe he might have been satisfied
if it hadn't been for old Nat Parsons, which was postmaster,

and powerful long and slim, and kind o' good-hearted and
silly, and bald-headed, on account of his age, and about the
talkiest old cretur I ever see. For as much as thirty years
he'd been the only man in the village that had a reputation
— I mean a reputation for being a traveller, and of course
he was mortal proud of it, and it was reckoned that in the
course of that thirty years he had told about that journey
over a million times and enjoyed it every time. And now
comes along a boy not quite fifteen, and sets everybody ad
miring and gawking over his travels, and it just give the
poor old man the high strikes. It made him sick to listen
to Tom, and to hear the people say " My land !" " Did you
ever !" " My goodness sakes alive !" and all such things ;
but he couldn't pull away from it, any more than a fly
that's got its hind leg fast in the molasses. And always
when Tom come to a rest, the poor old cretur would chip
in on his same old travels and work them for all they were
worth, but they were pretty faded, and didn't go for much,
and it was pitiful to see. And then Tom would take an
other innings, and then the old man again — and so on, and
so on, for an hour and more, each trying to beat out the
other.

You see, Parsons' travels happened like this : When he
first got to be postmaster and was green in the business,
there come a letter for somebody he didn't know, and there
wasn't any such person in the village. Well, he didn't
know what to do, nor how to act, and there the letter stayed
and stayed, week in and week out, till the bare sight of it
gave him a conniption. The postage wasn't paid on it,
and that was another thing to worry about. There wasn't
any way to collect that ten cents, and he reckon'd the
Gov'ment would hold him responsible for it and maybe turn
him out besides, when they found he hadn't collected it.
Well, at last he couldn't stand it any longer. He couldn't

sleep nights, he couldn't eat, he was thinned down to a
shadder, yet he da'sn't ask anybody's advice, for the very
person he asked for advice might go back on him and let
the Gov'ment know about the letter. He had the letter
buried under the floor, but that did no good ,• if he hap
pened to see a person standing over the place it 'd give him
the cold shivers, and loaded him up with suspicions, and he
would sit up that night till the town was still and dark,
and then he would sneak there and get it out and bury it in
another place. Of course people got to avoiding him and
shaking their heads and whispering, because, the way he
was looking and acting, they judged he had killed somebody
or done something terrible, they didn't know what, and if
he had been a stranger they would 've lynched him.

Well, as I was saying, it got so he couldn't stand it any
longer ; so he made up his mind to pull out for Washing
ton, and just go to the President of the United States and
make a clean breast of the whole thing, not keeping back
an atom, and then fetch the letter out and lay it before the
whole Gov'ment, and say, " Now, there she is— do with me
what you're a mind to ; though as heaven is my judge I am
an innocent man and not deserving of the full penalties of
the law and leaving behind me a family that must starve and
yet hadn't had a thing to do with it, which is the whole truth
and I can swear to it."

So he did it. He had a little wee bit of steamboating,
and some stage-coaching, but all the rest of the way was
horseback, and it took him three weeks to get to Washing
ton. He saw lots of land and lots of villages and four cities.
He was gone 'most eight weeks, and there never was such
a proud man in the village as when he got back. His trav
els made him the greatest man in all that region, and the
most talked about ; and people come from as much as thirty
miles back in the country, and from over in the Illinois hot-

toms, too, just to look at him — and there they'd stand and
gawk, and he'd gabble. You never see anything like it.

Well, there wasn't any way, now, to settle which was
the greatest traveller ; some said it was Nat, some said it
was Tom. Everybody allowed that Nat had seen the most
longitude, but they had to give in that whatever Tom was
short in longitude he had made up in latitude and climate.
It was about a stand-off ; so both of them had to whoop
up their dangerous adventures, and try to get ahead that
way. That bullet-wound in Tom's leg was a tough thing
for Nat Parsons to buck against, but he bucked the best
he could ; and at a disadvantage, too, for Tom didn't set
still as he'd orter done, to be fair, but always got up and
sauntered around and worked his limp while Nat was paint
ing up the adventure that he had in Washington ; for Tom
never let go that limp when his leg got well, but prac
tised it nights at home, and kept it good as new right
along.

Nat's adventure was like this ; I don't know how true it
is ; maybe he got it out of a paper, or somewhere, but I
will say this for him, that he did know how to tell it. He
could make anybody's flesh crawl, and he'd turn pale and
hold his breath when he told it, and sometimes women and
girls got so faint they couldn't stick it out. Well, it was
this way, as near as I can remember :

He come a-loping into Washington, and put up his horse
and shoved out to the President's house with his letter, and
they told him the President was up to the Capitol, and
just going to start for Philadelphia — not a minute to lose
if he wanted to catch him. Nat 'most dropped, it made
him so sick. His horse was put up, and he didn't know
what to do. But just then along comes a darky driving an
old ramshackly hack, and he see his chance. He rushes
out and shouts : " A half a dollar if you git me to the Capi-

tol in half an hour, and a quarter extra if you do it in
twenty minutes !"

" Done !" says the darky.

Nat he jumped in and slammed the door, and away they
went a-ripping and a-tearing over the roughest road a body
ever see, and the racket of it was something awful. Nat
passed his arms through the loops and hung on for life and
death, but pretty soon the hack hit a rock and flew up in
the air, and the bottom fell out, and when it come down
Nat's feet was on the ground, and he see he was in the
most desperate danger if he couldn't keep up with the
hack. He was horrible scared, but he laid into his work
for all he was worth, and hung tight to the arm-loops and
made his legs fairly fly. He yelled and shouted to the'
driver to stop, and so did the crowds along the street, for
they could see his legs spinning along under the coach,
and his head and shoulders bobbing inside, through the
windows, and he was in awful danger ; but the more they
all shouted the more the nigger whooped and yelled and
lashed the horses and shouted, " Don't you fret, I's gwine
to git you dah in time, boss ; I's gwine to do it, sho' !" for
you see he thought they were all hurrying him up, and of
course he couldn't hear anything for the racket he was
making. And so they went ripping along, and everybody
just petrified to see it ; and when they got to the Capitol
at last it was the quickest trip that ever was made, and
everybody said so. The horses laid down, and Nat dropped,
all tuckered out, and he was all dust and rags and bare
footed ; but he was in time and just in time, and caught
the President and give him the letter, and everything was
all right, and the President give him a free pardon on the
spot, and Nat give the nigger two extra quarters instead of
one, because he could see that if he hadn't had the hack
he wouldn't 'a' got there in time, nor anywhere near it.

It was a powerful good adventure, and Tom Sawyer had
to work his bullet-wound mighty lively to hold his own
against it.

Well, by-and-by Tom's glory got to paling down gradu'ly,
on account of other things turning up for the people to talk
about — first a horse-race, and on top of that a house afire,
and on top of that the circus, and on top of that the eclipse ;
and that started a revival, same as it always does, and
by that time there wasn't any more talk about Tom, so
to speak, and you never see a person so sick and dis
gusted.

Pretty soon he got to worrying and fretting right along day
in and day out, and when I asked him what was he in such
a state about, he said it 'most broke his heart to think how
time was slipping away, and him getting older and older,
and no wars breaking out and no way of making a name
for himself that he could see. Now that is the way boys
is always thinking, but he was the first one I ever heard
come out and say it.

So then he set to work to get up a plan to make him
celebrated ; and pretty soon he struck it, and offered to
take me and Jim in. Tom Sawyer was always free and
generous that way. There's a-plenty of boys that's mighty
good and friendly when you've got a good thing, but when
a good thing happens to come their way they don't say a
word to you, and try to hog it all. That warn't ever Tom
Sawyer's way, I can say that for him. There's plenty of
boys that will come hankering and grovelling around you
when you've got an apple, and beg the core off of you ;
but when they've got one, and you beg for the coie and
remind them how you give them a core one time, they say
thank you 'most to death, but there ain't a-going to be no
core. But I notice they always git come up with ; all you
got to do is to wait

Well, we went out in the woods on the hill, and Tom
told us what it was. It was a crusade.

" What's a crusade ?" I says.

He looked scornful the way he's always done when he
was ashamed of a person, and says —

" Huck Finn, do you mean to tell me you don't know
what a crusade is ?"

"No," says I, "I don't. And I don't care to, nuther.
I've lived till now and done without it, and had my health,
too. But as soon as you tell me, I'll know, and that's soon
enough. I don't see any use in rinding out things and clog
ging up my head with them when I mayn't ever have any
occasion to use 'em. There was Lance Williams, he learned
how to talk Choctaw here till one come and dug his grave
for him. Now, then, what's a crusade? But I can tell
you one thing before you begin ; if it's a patent-right, there's
no money in it. Bill Thompson he — "

" Patent-right !" says he. " I never see such an idiot.
Why, a crusade is a kind of war."

I thought he must be losing his mind. But no, he was
in real earnest, and went right on, perfectly ca'm :

" A crusade is a war to recover the Holy Land from the
paynim."

" Which Holy Land ?"

" Why, the Holy Land— there ain't but one."

" What do we want of it ?"

"Why, can't you understand? It's in the hands of
the paynim, and it's our duty to take it away from
them."

" How did we come to let them git hold of it ?"

" We didn't come to let them git hold of it. They al
ways had it."

" Why, Tom, then it must belong to them, don't it ?"

" Why of course it does. Who said it didn't ?"

I studied over it, but couldn't seem to git at the right
of it, no way. • I says :

" It's too many for me, Tom Sawyer. If I had a farm
and it was mine, and another person wanted it, would it be
right for him to —

" Oh, shucks ! you don't know enough to come in when it
rains, Huck Finn. It ain't a farm, it's entirely different.
You see, it's like this. They own the land, just the mere
hand, and that's all they do own ; but it was our folks, our
Jews and Christians, that made it holy, and so they haven't
any business to be there defiling it. It's a shame, and we
ought not to stand it a minute. We ought to march against
them and take it away from them."

" Why, it does seem to me it's the most mixed-up thing
I ever see ! Now if I had a farm and another person — "

" Don't I tell you it hasn't got anything to do with farm
ing ? Farming is business, just common low-down busi
ness ; that's all it is, it's all you can say for it ; but this is
higher, this is religious, and totally different."

" Religious to go and take the land away from people
that owns it?"

" Certainly ; it's always been considered so."

Jim he shook his head, and says :

" Mars Tom, I reckon dey's a mistake about it somers —
dey mos' sholy is. I's religious myself, en I knows plenty
religious people, but I hain't run across none dat acts like
dat"

It made Tom hot, and he says :

"Well, it's enough to make a body sick, such mullet-
headed ignorance ! If either of you'd read anything about
history, you'd know that Richard Cur de Loon, and the
Pope, and Godfrey de Bulleyn, and lots more of the most
noble-hearted and pious people in the world, hacked and
hammered at the paynims for more than two hundred years

trying to take their land away from them, and swum neck-
deep in blood the whole time — and yet here's a couple of
sap-headed country yahoos out in the backwoods of Mis
souri, setting themselves up to know more about the rights
and wrongs of it than they did ! Talk about cheek !"

Well, of course, that put a more different light on it, and
me and Jim felt pretty cheap and ignorant, and wished we
hadn't been quite so chipper. I couldn't say nothing, and
Jim he couldn't for a while ; then he says :

"Well, den, I reckon it's all right; beca'se ef dey didn't
know, dey ain't no use for po' ignorant folks like us to be
trying to know ; en so, ef it's our duty, we got to go en
tackle it en do de bes' we can. Same time, I feel as sorry
for dem paynims as Mars Tom. De hard part gwine to be
to kill folks dat a body hain't been 'quainted wid and dat
hain't done him no harm. Dat's it, you see. Efwewuztogo
'mongst 'em, jist we three, en say we's hungry, en ast 'em
for a bite to eat, why, maybe dey's jist like yuther people.
Don't you reckon dey is ? Why, dey*d give it, I know dey ;
would, en den — " *~ ^

"Then what?"

" Well, Mars Tom, my idea is like dis. It ain't no use,
we can't kill dem po' strangers dat ain't doin' us no harm,
till we've had practice — I knows it perfectly well, Mars
Tom — 'deed I knows it perfectly well. But ef we takes a'
ax or two, jist you en me en Huck, en slips acrost de
river to-night arter de moon's gone down, en kills dat sick
fam'ly dat's over on the Sny, en burns dey house down,
en—"

"Oh, you make me tired !" says Tom. " I don't want
to argue any more with people like you and Huck Finn,
that's always wandering from the subject, and ain't got any
more sense than to try to reason out a thing that's pure
theology by the laws that protect real estate 1"

Now that's just where Tom Sawyer warn't fair. Jim
didn't mean no harm, and I didn't mean no harm. We
knowed well enough that he was right and we was wrong,
and all we was after was to get at the how of it, and that
was all ; and the only reason he couldn't explain it so we
could understand it was because we was ignorant — yes,
and pretty dull, too, I ain't denying that ; but, land ! that
ain't no crime, I should think.

But he wouldn't hear no more about it — just said if we
had tackled the thing in the proper spirit, he would 'a'
raised a couple of thousand knights and put them in steel
armor from head to heel, and made me a lieutenant and
Jim a sutler, and took the command himself and brushed
the whole paynim outfit into the sea like flies and come
back across the world in a glory like sunset. But he said
we didn't know enough to take the chance when we had it,
and he wouldn't ever offer it again. And he didn't. When
he once got set, you couldn't budge him.

But I didn't care much. I am peaceable, and don't get
up rows with people that ain't doing nothing to me. I
allowed if the paynim was satisfied I was, and we would let
it stand at that.

Now Tom he got all that notion out of Walter Scott's
book, which he was always reading. And it was a wild
notion, because in my opinion he never could 've raised the
men, and if he did, as like as not he would 've got licked.
I took the book and read all about it, and as near as I
could make it out, most of the folks that shook farming to
go crusading had a mighty rocky time of it.

CHAPTER II
THE BALLOON ASCENSION

WELL, Tom got up one thing after another, but they all
had tender spots about 'em somewheres, and he had to
shove 'em aside. So at last he was about in despair.
Then the St. Louis papers begun to talk a good deal about
the balloon that was going to sail to Europe, and Tom
sort of thought he wanted to go down and see what it
looked like, but couldn't make up his mind. But the
papers went on talking, and so he allowed that maybe
if he didn't go he mightn't ever have another chance to
see a balloon ; and next, he found out that Nat Parsons
was going down to see it, and that decided him, of course.
He wasn't going to have Nat Parsons coming back brag
ging about seeing the balloon, and him having to listen to it
and keep quiet. So he wanted me and Jim to go too, and
we went.

It was a noble big balloon, and had wings and fans and
all sorts of things, and wasn't like any balloon you see in
pictures. It was away out toward the edge of town, in a
vacant lot, corner of Twelfth Street; and there was a big
crowd around it, making fun of it, and making fun of the
man, — a lean pale feller with that soft kind of moonlight in
his eyes, you know, — and they kept saying it wouldn't go.
It made him hot to hear them, and he would turn on them
and shake his fist and say they was animals and blind, but
some day they would find they had stood face to face with

one of the men that lifts up nations and makes civiliza
tions, and was too dull to know it; and right here on this
spot their own children and grandchildren would build a
monument to him that would outlast a thousand years, but
his name would outlast the monument. And then the
crowd would burst out in a laugh again, and yell at him,
and ask him what was his name before he was married,
and what he would take to not do it, and what was his sis
ter's cat's grandmother's nama, and all the things that a
crowd says when they've got hold of a feller that they see
they can plague. Well, some things they said was funny,—
yes, and mighty witty too, I ain't denying that, — but all
the same it warn't fair nor brave, all them people pitching
on one, and they so glib and sharp, and him without any
gift of talk to answer back with. But, good land ! what
did he want to sass back for ? You see, it couldn't do him
no good, and it was just nuts for them. They had him,
you know. But that was his way. I reckon he couldn't
help it ; he was made so, I judge. He was a good-enough
sort of cretur, and hadn't no harm in him, and was just a
genius, as the papers said, which wasn't his fault. We can't
all be sound : we've got to be the way we're made. As
near as I can make out, geniuses think they know it all,
and so they won't take people's advice, but always go their
own way, which makes everybody forsake them and despise
them, and that is perfectly natural. If they was humbler,
and listened and tried to learn, it would be better for them.

The part the professor was in was like a boat, and was
big and roomy, and had water-tight lockers around the in
side to keep all sorts of things in, and a body could sit
on them, and make beds on them, too. We went aboard,
and there was twenty people there, snooping around and
examining, and old Nat Parsons was there, too. The pro
fessor kept fussing around, getting ready, and the people

went ashore, drifting out one at a time, and old Nat he was
the last. Of course it wouldn't do to let him go out behind
us. We mustn't budge till he was gone, so we could be
last ourselves.

But he was gone now, so it was time for us to follow.
I heard a big shout, and turned around — the city was
dropping from under us like a shot ! It made me sick
all through, I was so scared. Jim turned gray and couldn't
say a word, and Tom didn't say nothing, but looked ex
cited. The city went on dropping down, and down, and
down ; but we didn't seem to be doing nothing but just
hang in the air and stand still. The houses got smaller and
smaller, and the city pulled itself together, closer and closer,
and the men and wagons got to looking like ants and bugs
crawling around, and the streets like threads and cracks;
and then it all kind of melted together, and there wasn't
any city any more : it was only a big scar on the earth,
and it seemed to me a body could see up the river and
down the river about a thousand miles, though of course
it wasn't so much. By-and-by the earth was a ball — just
a round ball, of a dull color, with shiny stripes wriggling
and winding around over it, which was rivers. The Widder
Douglas always told me the earth was round like a ball,
but I never took any stock in a lot of them superstitions
o' hers, and of course I paid no attention to that one,
because I could see myself that the world was the shape
of a plate, and flat. I used to go up on the hill, and take
a look around and prove it for myself, because I reckon
the best way to get a sure thing on a fact is to go and
examine for yourself, and not take anybody's say-so. But
I had to give in, now, that the widder was right. That
is, she was right as to the rest of the world, but she warn't
right about the part our village is in ; that part is the shape
of a plate, and flat, I take my oath !

The professor had been quiet all this time, as if he was
asleep; but he broke loose now, and he was mighty bitter.
He says something like this :

" Idiots ! They said it wouldn't go; and they wanted to
examine it, and spy around and get the secret of it out of
me. But I beat them. Nobody knows the secret but me.
Nobody knows what makes it move but me; and it's a new
power — a new power, and a thousand times the strongest
in the earth ! Steam's foolishness to it ! They said I
couldn't go to Europe. To Europe ! Why, there's power
aboard to last five years, and feed for three months. They
are fools ! What do they know about it ? Yes, and they
said my air-ship was flimsy. Why, she's good for fifty
years ! I can sail the skies all my life if I want to, and
steer where I please, though they laughed at that, and
said I couldn't. Couldn't steer! Come here, boy; we'll
see. You press these buttons as I tell you."

He made Tom steer the ship all about and every which
way, and learnt him the whole thing in nearly no time ;
and Tom said it was perfectly easy. He made him fetch
the ship down 'most to the earth, and had him spin her
along so close to the Illinois prairies that a body could
talk to the farmers, and hear everything they said per
fectly plain ; and he flung out printed bills to them that
told about the balloon, and said it was going to Europe.
Tom got so he could steer straight for a tree till he got
nearly to it, and then dart up and skin right along over the
top of it. Yes, and he showed Tom how to land her; and
he done it first-rate, too, and set her down in the prairies
as soft as wool. But the minute we started to skip out
the professor says, " No, you don't !" and shot her up in the
air again. It was awful. I begun to beg, and so did Jim ; but
it only give his temper a rise, and he begun to rage around
and look wild out of his eyes, and I was scared of him.

Well, then he got on to his troubles again, and mourned
and grumbled about the way he was treated, and couldn't
seem to git over it, and especially people's saying his ship
was flimsy. He scoffed at that, and at their saying she
warn't simple and would be always getting out of order.
Get out of order ! That gravelled him ; he said that she
couldn't any more get out of order than the solar sister.

He got worse and worse, and I never see a person take
on so. It give me the cold shivers to see him, and so it
did Jim. By-and-by he got to yelling and screaming, and
then he swore the world shouldn't ever have his secret
at all now, it had treated him so mean. He said he would
sail his balloon around the globe just to show what he
could do, and then he would sink it in the sea, and sink us
all along with it, too. Well, it was the awfulest fix to be
in, and here was night coming on !

He give us something to eat, and made us go to the
other end of the boat, and he laid down on a locker, where
he could boss all the works, and put his old pepper-box
revolver under his head, and said if anybody come fooling
around there trying to land her, he would kill him.

We set scrunched up together, and thought considerable,
but didn't say much — only just a word once in a while
when a body had to say something or bust, we was so
scared and worried. The night dragged along slow and
lonesome. We was pretty low down, and the moonshine
made everything soft and pretty, and the farm-houses
looked snug and homeful, and we could hear the farm
sounds, and wished we could be down there ; but, laws !
we just slipped along over them like a ghost, and never left
a track.

Away in the night, when all the sounds was late sounds,
and the air had a late feel, and a late smell, too, — about

a two-o'clock feel, as near as I could make out, — Tom said
ara

the professor was so quiet this time he must be asleep, and
we'd better —

" Better what ?" I says in a whisper, and feeling sick all
over, because I knowed what he was thinking about.

" Better slip back there and tie him, and land the ship,"
he says.

I says: "No, sir! Don't you budge, Tom Sawyer."

And Jim — well, Jim was kind o' gasping, he was so
scared. He says :

"Oh, Mars Tom, don't! Ef you teches him, we's gone
— we's gone sho' ! I ain't gwine anear him, not for nothin'
in dis worl'. Mars Tom, he's plumb crazy."

Tom whispers and says : " That's why we've got to do
something. If he wasn't crazy I wouldn't give shucks to
be anywhere but here ; you couldn't hire me to get out, —
now that I've got used to this balloon and over the scare
of being cut loose from the solid ground, — if he was in
his right mind. But it's no good politics, sailing around
like this with a person that's out of his head, and says
he's going round the world and then drown us all. We've
got to do something, I tell you, and do it before he wakes
up, too, or we mayn't ever get another chance. Come !"

But it made us turn cold and creepy just to think of it,
and we said we wouldn't budge. So Tom was for slipping
back there by himself to see if he couldn't get at the steer
ing-gear and land the ship. We begged and begged him
not to, but it warn't no use ; so he got down on his hands
and knees, and begun to crawl an inch at a time, we a-hold-
ing our breath and watching. After he got to the middle
of the boat he crept slower than ever, and it did seem
like years to me. But at last we see him get to the pro
fessor's head, and sort of raise up soft and look a good
spell in his face and listen. Then we see him begin to
inch along again toward the professor's feet where the

AND HERE WAS NIGHT COMING ON!'

steering-buttons was. Well, he got there all safe, and was
reaching slow and steady toward the buttons, but he
knocked down something that made a noise, and we see
him slump down flat an' soft in the bottom, and lay still.
The professor stirred, and says, " What's that ?" But every
body kept dead still and quiet, and he begun to mutter and
mumble and nestle, like a person that's going to wake up,
and I thought I was going to die, I was so worried and
scared.

Then a cloud slid over the moon, and I 'most cried, I
was so glad. She buried herself deeper and deeper into
the cloud, and it got so dark we couldn't see Tom. Then
it began to sprinkle rain, and we could hear the professor
fussing at his ropes and things and abusing the weather.
We was afraid every minute he would touch Tom, and then
we would be goners, and no help ; but Tom was already
on his way back, and when we felt his hands on our knees
my breath stopped sudden, and my heart fell down 'mongst
my other works, because I couldn't tell in the dark but it
might be the professor, which I thought it was.

Dear ! I was so glad to have him back that I was just
as near happy as a person could be that was up in the air
that way with a deranged man. You can't land a balloon
in the dark, and so I hoped it would keep on raining, for
I didn't want Tom to go meddling any more and make us
so awful uncomfortable. Well, I got my wish. It drizzled
and drizzled along the rest of the night, which wasn't long,
though it did seem so ; and at daybreak it cleared, and the
world looked mighty soft and gray and pretty, and the
forests and fields so good to see again, and the horses and
cattle standing sober and thinking. Next, the sun come
a-blazing up gay and splendid, and then we began to feel
rusty and stretchy, and first we knowed we was all asleep.

CHAPTER III
TOM EXPLAINS

WE went to sleep about four o'clock, and woke up about
eight. The professor was setting back there at his end,
looking glum. He pitched us some breakfast, but he told
us not to come abaft the midship compass. That was
about the middle of the boat. Well, when you are sharp-
set, and you eat and satisfy yourself, everything looks pretty
different from what it done before. It makes a body feel
pretty near comfortable, even when he is up in a balloon
with a genius. We got to talking together.

There was one thing that kept bothering me, and by-and-
by I says :

" Tom, didn't we start east ?"

" Yes/'

" How fast have we been going ?"

" Well, you heard what the professor said when he was
raging round. Sometimes, he said, we was making fifty
miles an hour, sometimes ninety, sometimes a hundred ;
said that with a gale to help he could make three hundred
any time, and said if he wanted the gale, and wanted it
blowing the right direction, he only had to go up higher
or down lower to find it."

" Well, then, it's just as I reckoned. The professor lied."

"Why?"

" Because if we was going so fast we ought to be past
Illinois, oughtn't we ?"

" Certainly."

" Well, we ain't."

" What's the reason we ain't ?"

" I know by the color. We're right over Illinois yet.
And you can see for yourself that Indiana ain't in sight."

" I wonder what's the matter with you, Huck. You
know by the color ?"

" Yes, of course I do."

" What's the color got to do with it ?"

" It's got everything to do with it. Illinois is green,
Indiana is pink. You show me any pink down here, if
you can. No, sir ; it's green."

" Indiana pink ? Why, what a lie !"

" It ain't no lie ; I've seen it on the map, and it's pink."

You never see a person so aggravated and disgusted.
He says :

" Well, if I was such a numskull as you, Huck Finn, I
would jump over. Seen it on the map ! Huck Finn, did
you reckon the States was the same color out-of-doors as
they are on the map ?"

" Tom Sawyer, what's a map for ? Ain't it to learn you
facts?"

" Of course."

" Well, then, how's it going to do that if it tells lies ?
That's what I want to know."

" Shucks, you muggins ! It don't tell lies."

" It don't, don't it ?"

" No, it don't."

" All right, then ; if it don't, there ain't no two States
the same color. You git around that, if you can, Tom
Sawyer."

He see I had him, and Jim see it too ; and I tell you, I
felt pretty good, for Tom Sawyer was always a hard person
to git ahead of. Jim slapped his leg and says :

" I tell you / dat's smart, dat's right down smart. Ain't
no use, Mars Tom ; he got you dis time, sho !" He slapped
his leg again, and says, " My lan\ but it was smart one !"

I never felt so good in my life ; and yet / didn't know I
was saying anything much till it was out. I was just moon
ing along, perfectly careless, and not expecting anything
was going to happen, and never thinking of such a thing
at all, when, all of a sudden, out it come. Why, it was
just as much a surprise to me as it was to any of them. It
was just the same way it is when a person is munching
along on a hunk of corn-pone, and not thinking about any
thing, and all of a sudden bites into a diamond. Now all
that he knows first off is that it's some kind of gravel he's
bit into ; but he don't find out it's a di'mond till he gits it
out and brushes off the sand and crumbs and one thing or
another, and has a look at it, and then he's surprised and
glad — yes, and proud too ; though when you come to look
the thing straight in the eye, he ain't entitled to as much
credit as he would 'a' been if he'd been hunting di'monds.
You can see the difference easy if you think it over. You
see, an accident, that way, ain't fairly as big a thing as a
thing that's done a -purpose. Anybody could find that
di'mond in that corn-pone ; but mind you, it's got to be
somebody that's got that kind of a corn-pone. That's where
that feller's credit comes in, you see ; and that's where
mine comes in. I don't claim no great things, — I don't
reckon I could 'a' done it again, — but I done it that time ;
that's all I claim. And I hadn't no more idea I could do
such a thing, and warn't any more thinking about it or try
ing to, than you be this minute. Why, I was just as ca'm,
a body couldn't be any ca'mer, and yet, all of a sudden,
out it come. I've often thought of that time, and I can
remember just the way everything looked, same as if it was
only last week. I can see it all : beautiful rolling country

with woods and fields and lakes for hundreds and hundreds
of miles all around, and towns and villages scattered every-
wheres under us, here and there and yonder; and the pro
fessor mooning over a chart on his little table, and Tom's
cap flopping in the rigging where it was hung up to dry.
And one thing in particular was a bird right alongside, not
ten foot off, going our way and trying to keep up, but losing
ground all the time ; and a railroad train doing the same
thing down there, sliding among the trees and farms, and
pouring out a long cloud of black smoke and now and then
a little puff of white ; and when the white was gone so long
you had almost forgot it, you would hear a little faint
toot, and that was the whistle. And we left the bird and
the train both behind, ''way behind, and done it easy too.

But Tom he was huffy, and said me and Jim was a
couple of ignorant blatherskites, and then he says :

" Suppose there's a brown calf and a big brown dog, and
an artist is making a picture of them. What is the main
thing that that artist has got to do ? He has got to paint
them so you can tell them apart the minute you look at
them, hain't he ? Of course. Well, then, do you want him
to go and paint both of them brown ? Certainly you don't.
He paints one of them blue, and then you can't make no
mistake. It's just the same with the maps. That's why
they make every State a different color ; it ain't to deceive
you, it's to keep you from deceiving yourself."

But I couldn't see no argument about that, and neither
could Jim. Jim shook his head, and says :

" Why, Mars Tom, if you knowed what chuckleheads
dem painters is, you'd wait a long time before you'd fetch
one er dem in to back up a fac'. I's gwine to tell you, den
you kin see for you'self. I see one of 'em a-paintin' away,
one day, down in ole Hank Wilson's back lot, en I went
down to see, en he was paiw»«' d».t sld brindta eew wicl

de near horn gone — you knows de one I means. En I ast
him what he's paintin' her for, en he say when he git her
painted, de picture's wuth a hundred dollars. Mars Tom,
he could a got de cow fer fifteen, en I tole him so. Well,
sah, if you'll b'lieve me, he jes' shuck his head, dat painter
did, en went on a-dobbin'. Bless you, Mars Tom. dey don't
know nothinV

Tom he lost his temper. I notice a person 'most always
does that's got laid out in an argument. He told us to shut
up, and maybe we'd feel better. Then he see a town clock
away off down yonder, and he took up the glass and looked
at it, and then looked at his silver turnip, and then at the
clock, and then at the turnip again, and says:

" That's funny ! Th >t clock's near about an hour fast."

So he put up his turnip Then he see another clock, and
took a look, and it was an hour fast too. That puzzled him.

"That's a mighty curious thing," he says. "I don't
understand it."

Then he took the glass and hunted up another clock, and
sure enough it was an hour fast too. Then his eyes began
to spread and his breath to come out kinder gaspy like, and
ht says :

" Ger-reat Scott, it's the longitude!"

I says, considerably scared :

"Well, what's been and gone and happened now?"

" Why, the thing that's happened is that this old bladder
has slid over Illinois and Indiana and Ohio like nothing,
and this is the east end of Pennsylvania or New York, or
somewheres around there."

"Tom Sawyer, you don't mean it !"

"Yes, I do, and it's dead sure. We've covered about
fifteen degrees of longitude since we left St. Louis yes
terday afternoon, and them clocks are right. We've come
siose on to eight hundred miles."

I didn't believe it, but it made the cold streaks trickle
down my back just the same. In my experience I knowed
it wouldn't take much short of two weeks to do it down the
Mississippi on a raft.

Jim was working his mind and studying. Pretty soon he
says:

" Mars Tom, did you say dem clocks uz right ?"

"Yes, they're right."

" Ain't yo' watch right, too ?"

" She's right for St. Louis, but she's an hour wrong for
here."

" Mars Tom, is you tryin' to let on dat de time ain't de
same everywheres ?"

" No, it ain't the same everywheres, by a long shot."

Jim looked distressed, and says :

" It grieves me to hear you talk like dat, Mars Tom ; I's
right down ashamed to hear you talk like dat, arter de way
you's been raised. Yassir, it 'd break yo' Aunt Polly's heart
to hear you."

Tom was astonished. He looked Jim over, wondering,
and didn't say nothing, and Jim went on :

" Mars Tom, who put de people out yonder in St.
Louis ? De Lord done it. Who put de people here whar
we is ? De Lord done it. Ain' dey bofe his children ?
'Cose dey is. Well, den ! is he gwine to scriminate 'twixt
'em ?"

" Scriminate ! I never heard such ignorance. There
ain't no discriminating about it. When he makes you and
some more of his children black, and makes the rest of us
white, what do you call that?"

Jim see the p'int. He was stuck. He couldn't answer.
Tom says :

" He does discriminate, you see, when he wants to ; but
this case here ain't no discrimination of his, it's man's. The

Lord made the day, and he made the night ; but he didn't
invent the hours, and he didn't distribute them around.
Man did that."

" Mars Tom, is dat so ? Man done it •?"

" Certainly."

"Who tolehim he could?"

" Nobody. He never asked."

Jim studied a minute, and says :

"Well, dat do beat me. I wouldn't 'a' tuck no sich resk.
But some people ain't scared o' nothin'. Dey bangs right
ahead ; dey don't care what happens. So den dey's allays
an hour's diff'unce everywhah, Mars Tom ?"

"An hour? No ! It's four minutes difference for every
degree of longitude, you know. Fifteen of 'em's an hour,
thirty of 'em's two hours, and so on. When it's one o'clock
Tuesday morning in England, it's eight o'clock the night
before in New York."

Jim moved a little way along the locker, and you could
see he was insulted. He kept shaking his head and mut
tering, and so I slid along to him and patted him on the leg,
and petted him up, and got him over the worst of his feel
ings, and then he says:

"Mars Tom talkin' sich talk as dat! Choosday in one
place en Monday in t'other, bofe in the same day ! Huck,
dis ain't no place to joke — up here whah we is. Two days
in one day ! How you gwine to got two days inter one
day? Can't git two hours inter one hour, kin you? Can't
git two niggers inter one nigger skin, kin you ? Can't git
two gallons of whiskey inter a one-gallon jug, kin you ? No,
sir, 'twould strain de jug. Yes, en even den you couldn't,
/don't believe. Why, looky here, Huck, s'posen de Choos
day was New Year's— now den ! is you gwine to tell me it's
dis year in one place en las' year in t'other, bofe in de iden
tical same minute ? JJ'.s de beatenest rubbage 1 I can't

Stan' it — I can't stan' to hear tell 'bout it." Then he begun
to shiver and turn gray, and Tom says :

"Now what's the matter ? What's the trouble ?"

Jim could hardly speak, but he says :

"Mars Tom, you ain't jokin', en it's so?"

" No I'm not, and it is so."

Jim shivered again, and says:

" Den dat Monday could be de las' day, en dey wouldn't
be no las' day in England, en de dead wouldn't be called.
We mustn't go over dah, Mars Tom. Please git him to turn
back ; I wants to be whah — "

All of a sudden we see something, and all jumped up, and
forgot everything and begun to gaze. Tom says:

"Ain't that the — " He catched his breath, then says:
" It is, sure as you live ! It's the ocean !"

That made me and Jim catch our breath, too. Then we
all stood petrified but happy, for none of us had ever seen
an ocean, or ever expected to. Tom kept muttering :

" Atlantic Ocean — Atlantic. Land, don't it sound great !
And that's // — and we are looking at it — we ! Why, it's just
too splendid to believe !"

Then we see a big bank of black smoke ; and when we
got nearer, it was a city — and a monster she was, too, with
a thick fringe of ships around one edge ; and we wondered
if it was New York, and begun to jaw and dispute about it,
and, first we knowed, it slid from under us and went flying
behind, and here we was, out over the very ocean itself, and
going like a cyclone. Then we woke up, I tell you !

We made a break aft and raised a wail, and begun to beg
the professor to turn back and land us, but he jerked out
his pistol and motioned us back, and we went, but nobody
will ever know how bad we felt.

The land was gone, all but a little streak, like a snake,
away off on the edge of the water, and down under us waa

just ocean, ocean, ocean — millions of miles of it, heaving
and pitching and squirming, and white sprays blowing from
the wave-tops, and only a few ships in sight, wallowing around
and laying over, first on one side and then on t'other, and
sticking their bows under and then their sterns ; and before
long there warn't no ships at all, and we had the sky and
the whole ocean all to ourselves, and the roomiest place I
ever see and the lonesomest.

THE PROFESSOR SAID HE WOULD KEEP UP THIS HUNDRED-MILE GAIT TILL
TO-MORROW "

CHAPTER IV
STORM

AND it got lonesomer and lonesomer. There was the big
sky up there, empty and awful deep ; and the ocean down
there without a thing on it but just the waves. All around
us was a ring, where the sky and the water come together ;
yes, a monstrous big ring it was, and we right in the dead
centre of it — plumb in the centre. We was racing along
like a prairie fire, but it never made any difference, we
couldn't seem to git past that centre no way. I couldn't
see that we ever gained an inch on that ring. It made a
body feel creepy, it was so curious and unaccountable.

Well, everything was so awful still that we got to talking
in a very low voice, and kept on getting creepier and lone
somer and less and less talky, till at last the talk ran dry
altogether, and we just set there and " thunk," as Jim calls
it, and never said a word the longest time.

The professor never stirred till the sun was overhead, then
he stood up and put a kind of triangle to his eye, and Tom
said it was a sextant and he was taking the sun to see
whereabouts the balloon was. Then he ciphered a little
and looked in a book, and then he begun to carry on again.
He said lots of wild things, and amongst others he said he
would keep up this hundred-mile gait till the middle of to
morrow afternoon, and then he'd land in London.

We said we would be humbly thankful.

He was turning away, but he whirled around when we

3°

said that, and give us a long look of his blackest kind —
one of the maliciousest and suspiciousest looks I ever see.
Then he says :

" You want to leave me. Don't try to deny it."

We didn't know what to say, so we held in and didn't say
nothing at all.

He went aft and set down, but he couldn't seem to git
that thing out of his mind. Every now and then he would
rip out something about it, and try to make us answer him,
but we dasn't.

It got lonesomer and lonesomer right along, and it did
seem to me I couldn't stand it. It was still worse when
night begun to come on. By-and-by Tom pinched me and
whispers :

" Look !"

I took a glance aft, and see the professor taking a whet
out of a bottle. I didn't like the looks of that. By-and-by
he took another drink, and pretty soon he begun to sing.
It was dark now, and getting black and stormy. He went
on singing, wilder and wilder, and the thunder begun to
mutter, and the wind to wheeze and moan amongst the
ropes, and altogether it was awful. It got so black we
couldn't see him any more, and wished we couldn't hear
him, but we could. Then he got still ; but he warn't still
ten minutes till we got suspicious, and wished he would
start up his noise again, so we could tell where he was.
By-and-by there was a flash of lightning, and we see him
start to get up, but he staggered and fell down. We heard
him scream out in the dark :

"They don't want to go to England. All right, I'll
change the course. They want to leave me. I know they
do. Well, they shall — and now f"

I 'most died when he said that. Then he was still again,
— still so long I couldn't bear it, and it did seem to me the

'YOU WANT TO LEAVE ME. DON T TRY TO DENY IT

lightning wouldn't ever come again. But at last there was
a blessed flash, and there he was, on his hands and knees,
crawling, and not four feet from us. My, but his eyes was
terrible ! He made a lunge for Tom, and says, " Overboard
you go !" but it was already pitch-dark again, and I couldn't
see whether he got him or not, and Tom didn't make a
sound.

There was another long, horrible wait ; then there was a
flash, and I see Tom's head sink down outside the boat and
disappear. He was on the rope-ladder that dangled down
in the air from the gunnel. The professor let off a shout
and jumped for him, and straight off it was pitch-dark again,
and Jim groaned out, " Po' Mars Tom, he's a goner !" and
made a jump for the professor, but the professor warn't
there.

Then we heard a couple of terrible screams, and then
another not so loud, and then another that was 'way below,
and you could only just hear it; and I heard Jim say, " Po'
Mars Tom !"

Then it was awful still, and I reckon a person could 'a'
counted four thousand before the next flash come. When
it come I see Jim on his knees, with his arms on the locker
and his face buried 'n them, and he was crying. Before I
could look over the edge it was all dark again, and I was
glad, because I didn't want to see. But when the next
flash come, I was watching, and down there I see somebody
a-swinging in the wind on the ladder, and it was Tom !

" Come up !" I shouts ; " come up, Tom !"

His voice was so weak, and the wind roared so, I couldn't
make out what he said, but I thought he asked was the pro
fessor up there. I shouts :

" No, he's down in the ocean ! Come up ! Can we help
you ?"

Of course, all this in the dark.

" Huck, who is you hollerin' at ?"

" I'm hollerin' at Tom."

" Oh, Huck, how kin you act so, when you know po' Mars
Tom's — " Then he let off an awful scream, and flung his
head and his arms back and let off another one, because
there was a white glare just then, and he had raised up his
face just in time to see Tom's, as white as snow, rise above
the gunnel and look him right in the eye. He thought
it was Tom's ghost, you see.

Tom clumb aboard, and when Jim found it was him, and
not his ghost, he hugged him, and called him all sorts of
loving names, and carried on like he was gone crazy, he was
so glad. Says I :

" What did you wait for, Tom ? Why didn't you come up
at first ?"

" I dasn't, Huck. I knowed somebody plunged down
past me, but I didn't know who it was in the dark. It
could 'a' been you, it could 'a' been Jim."

That was the way with Tom Sawyer — always sound. He
warn't coming up till he knowed where the professor was.

The storm let go about this time with all its might ; and
it was dreadful the way the thunder boomed and tore, and
the lightning glared out, and the wim1 sung and screamed
in the rigging, and the rain come down. One second you
couldn't see your hand before you, and the next you could
count the threads in your coat-sleeve, and see a whole wide
desert of waves pitching and tossing through a kind of veil
of rain. A storm like that is the loveliest thing there is,
but it ain't at its best when you are up in the sky and lost,
and it's wet and lonesome, and there's just been a death in
the family.

We set there huddled up in the bow, and talked low
about the poor professor ; and everybody was sorry for him,
and sorry the world had made fun of him and treated him

E THUNDER BOOMED, AND THE LIGHTNING GLARED, AND THE WIND
SCREAMED IN THE RIGGING"

so harsh, when he was doing the best he could, and hadn't
a friend nor nobody to encourage him and keep him from
brooding his mind away and going deranged. There was
plenty of clothes and blankets and everything at the other
end, but we thought we'd ruther take the rain than go
meddling back there.

3TS

CHAPTER V
LAND

WE tried to make some plans, but we couldn't come to
no agreement. Me and Jim was for turning around and
going back home, but Tom allowed that by the time day
light come, so we could see our way, we would be so far
toward England that we might as well go there, and
come back in a ship, and have the glory of saying we
done it.

About midnight the storm quit and the moon come out
and lit up the ocean, and we begun to feel comfortable
and drowsy ; so we stretched out on the lockers and went
to sleep, and never woke up again till sun-up. The sea
was sparkling like di'monds, and it was nice weather, and
pretty soon our things was all dry again. *

We went aft to find some breakfast, and the first thing
we noticed was that there was a dim light burning in a
compass back there under a hood. Then Tom was dis
turbed. He says :

"You know what that means, easy enough. It means
that somebody has got to stay on watch and steer this
thing the same as he would a ship, or she'll wander around
and go wherever the wind wants her to."

" Well," I says, " what's she been doing since — er — since
we had the accident?"

" Wandering," he says, kinder troubled — " wandering,
without any doubt. She's in a wind, now, that's blowing

her south of east. We don't know how long that's been
going on, either."

So then he pointed her east, and said he would hold her
there till we rousted out the breakfast. The professor had
laid in everything a body could want ; he couldn't 'a' been
better fixed. There wasn't no milk for the coffee, but
there was water, and everything else you could want, and
a charcoal stove and the fixings for it, and pipes and cigars
and matches; and wine and liquor, which warn't in our
line ; and books, and maps, and charts, and an accordion ;
and furs, and blankets, and no end of rubbish, like brass
beads and brass jewelry, which Tom said was a sure sign
that he had an idea of visiting among savages. There was
money, too. Yes, the professor was well enough fixed.

After breakfast Tom learned me and Jim how to steer,
and divided us all up into four-hour watches, turn and
turn about ; and when his watch was out I took his place,
and he got out the professor's papers and pens and wrote
a letter home to his aunt Polly, telling her everything that
had happened to us, and dated it "/« the Welkin, approach
ing England" and folded it together and stuck it fast with
a red wafer, and directed it, and wrote above the direction,
in big writing, " From Tom Sawyer, the Erronort" and said
it would stump old Nat Parsons, the postmaster, when it
come along in the mail. I says :

" Tom Sawyer, this ain't no welkin ; it's a balloon."

" Well, now, who said it was a welkin, smarty ?"

ft You've wrote it on the letter, anyway."

" What of it ? That don't mean that the balloon's the
welkin."

" Oh, I thought it did. Well, then, what is a welkin ?"

I see in a minute he was stuck. He raked and scraped
around in his mind, but he couldn't find nothing, so he had
to say :

"7 don't know, and nobody don't know. It's just a
word, and it's a mighty good word, too. There ain't many
that lays over it. I don't believe there's any that does."

"Shucks!" I says. "But what does it mean?— that's
the p'int." .

"/don't know what it means, I tell you. It's a word
that people uses for — for — well, it's ornamental. They
don't put ruffles on a shirt to keep a person warm, do
they?"

" Course they don't."

" But they put them on, don't they ?"

"Yes."

" All right, then ; that letter I wrote is a shirt, and the
welkin's the ruffle on it."

I judged that that would gravel Jim, and it did.

" Now, Mars Tom, it ain't no use to talk like dat ; en,
moreover, it's sinful. You knows a letter ain't no shirt, en
dey ain't no ruffles on it, nuther. Dey ain't no place to put
'em on ; you can't put 'em on, and dey wouldn't stay ef
you did."

"Oh, do shut up, and wait till something's started that
you know something about."

" Why, Mars Tom, sholy you can't mean to say I don't
know about shirts, when, goodness knows, I's toted home
de washin' ever sence — "

" I tell you, this hasn't got anything to do with shirts.
I only—"

" Why, Mars Tom, you said yo'self dat a letter — "

"Do you want to drive me crazy? Keep still. I only
used it as a metaphor."

That word kinder bricked us up for a minute. Then
Jim says — rather timid, because he see Tom was getting
pretty tetchy :

" Mars Tom, what is a metaphor ?"

" A metaphor's a— well, it's a — a — a metaphor's an illus
tration." He see that didn't git home, so he tried again.
"When I say birds of a feather flocks together, it's a meta
phorical way of saying—

"But dey don't, Mars Tom. No, sir, 'deed dey don't.
Dey ain't no feathers dat's more alike den a bluebird en a
jaybird, but ef you waits till you catches dem birds together,
you'll—"

" Oh, give us a rest ! You can't get the simplest little
thing through your thick skull. Now don't bother me any
more."

Jim was satisfied to stop. He was dreadful pleased with
himself for catching Tom out. The minute Tom begun to
talk about birds I judged he was a goner, because Jim
knowed more about birds than both of us put together.
You see, he had killed hundreds and hundreds of them,
and that's the way to find out about birds. That's the
way people does that writes books about birds, and loves
them so that they'll go hungry and tired and take any
amount of trouble to find a new bird and kill it. Their
name is ornithologers, and I could have been an ornitholo-
ger myself, because I always loved birds and creatures j
and I started out to learn how to be one, and I see a bird
setting on a limb of a high tree, singing with its head tilted
back and its mouth open, and before I thought I fired, and
his song stopped and he fell straight down from the limb,
all limp like a rag, and I run and picked him up and he
was dead, and his body was warm in my hand, and his
head rolled about this way and that, like his neck was
broke, and there was a little white skin over his eyes, and
one little drop of blood on the side of his head ; and, laws!
I couldn't see nothing more for the tears ; and I hain't
never murdered no creature since that warn't doing me no
harm, and I ain't going to.

But I was aggravated about that welkin. I wanted to
know. I got the subject up again, and then Tom ex
plained, the best he could. He said when a person made
a big speech the newspapers said the shouts of the people
made the welkin ring. He said they always said that, but
none of them ever told what it was, so he allowed it just
meant outdoors and up high. Well, that seemed sensible
enough, so I was satisfied, and said so. That pleased Tom
and put him in a good humor again, and he says :

" Well, it's all right, then ; and we'll let by-gones be by
gones. I don't know for certain what a welkin is, but
when we land in London we'll make it ring, anyway, and
don't you forget it."

He said an erronort was a person who sailed around in
balloons ; and said it was a mighty sight finer to be Tom
Sawyer the Erronort than to be Tom Sawyer the Traveller,
and we would be heard of all round the world, if we pulled
through all right, and so he wouldn't give shucks to be
a traveller now.

Toward the middle of the afternoon we got everything
ready to land, and we felt pretty good, too, and proud ; and
we kept watching with the glasses, like Columbus discover
ing America. But we couldn't see nothing but ocean. The
afternoon wasted out and the sun shut down, and still there
warn't no land anywheres. We wondered what was the
matter, but reckoned it would come out all right, so we
went on steering east, but went up on a higher level so we
wouldn't hit any steeples or mountains in the dark.

It was my watch till midnight, and then it was Jim's ;
but Tom stayed up, because he said ship -captains done
that when they was making the land, and didn't stand no
regular watch.

Well, when daylight come, Jim give a shout, and we
jumped up and looked over, and there was the land sure

enough, — land all around, as far as you could see, and
perfectly level and yaller. We didn't know how long we'd
been over it. There warn't no trees, nor hills, nor rocks,
nor towns, and Tom and Jim had took it for the sea. They
took it for the sea in a dead ca'm ; but we was so high
up, anyway, that if it had been the sea and rough, it would
'a' looked smooth, all the same, in the night, that way.

We was all in a powerful excitement now, and grabbed
the glasses and hunted everywheres for London, but couldn't
find hair nor hide of it, nor any other settlement, — nor any
sign of a lake or a river, either. Tom was clean beat.
He said it warn't his notion of England ; he thought Eng
land looked like America, and always had that idea. So
he said we better have breakfast, and then drop down and
inquire the quickest way to London. We cut the breakfast
pretty short, we was so impatient. As we slanted along
down, the weather began to moderate, and pretty soon we
shed our furs. But it kept on moderating, and in a precious
little while it was 'most too moderate. We was close down,
now, and just blistering !

We settled down to within thirty foot of the land, — «
that is, it was land if sand is land ; for this wasn't any>
thing but pure sand. Tom and me clumb down the laddei
and took a run to stretch our legs, and it felt amazing
good, — that is, the stretching did, but the sand scorched
our feet like hot embers. Next, we see somebody coming,
and started to meet him; but we heard Jim shout, and
looked around and he was fairly dancing, and making
signs, and yelling. We couldn't make out what he said,
but we was scared anyway, and begun to heel it back to
the balloon. When we got close enough, we understood
the words, and they made me sick :

" Run ! Run fo' yo' life ! Hit's a lion ; I kin see him
thoo de glass ! Run, boys ; do please heel it de bes' you

kin. He's bu'sted outen de menagerie, en dey ain't nobody
to stop him !"

It made Tom fly, but it took the stiffening all out of my
legs. I could only just gasp along the way you do in a
dream when there's a ghost gaining on you.

Tom got to the ladder and shinned up it a piece and
waited for me ; and as soon as I got a foothold on it hq
shouted to Jim to soar away. But Jim had clean lost his
head, and said he had forgot how. So Tom shinned along
up and told me to follow ; but the lion was arriving, fetch
ing a most ghastly roar with every lope, and my legs shook
so I dasn't try to take one of them out of the rounds for
fear the other one would give way under me.

But Tom was aboard by this time, and he started the
balloon up a little, and stopped it again as soon as the
end of the ladder was ten or twelve feet above ground.
And there was the lion, a-ripping around under me, and
roaring and springing up in the air at the ladder, and only
missing it about a quarter of an inch, it seemed to me.
It was delicious to be out of his reach, perfectly delicious,
and made me feel good and thankful all up one side; but
I was hanging there helpless and couldn't climb, and that
made me feel perfectly wretched and miserable all down
the other. It is most seldom that a person feels so mixed,
like that ; and it is not to be recommended, either.

Tom asked me what he'd better do, but I didn't know.
He asked me if I could hold on whilst he sailed away to
a safe place and left the lion behind. I said I could if
he didn't go no higher than he was now; but if he went
higher I would lose my head and fall, sure. So he said,
" Take a good grip," and he started.

" Don't go so fast," I shouted. " It makes my head
swim."

He had started like a lightning express. He slowed

AND THERE WAS THE LION, A- RIPPING AROUND UNDER ME"

down, and we glided over the sand slower, but still in a
kind of sickening way ; for it is uncomfortable to see things
sliding and gliding under you like that, and not a sound.

But pretty soon there was plenty of sound, for the lion
was catching up. His noise fetched others. You could
see them coming on the lope from every direction, and
pretty soon there was a couple of dozen of them under me,
jumping up at the ladder and snarling and snapping at
each other; and so we went skimming along over the sand,
and these fellers doing what they could to help us to not
forgit the occasion ; and then some other beasts come,
without an invite, and they started a regular riot down there.

We see this plan was a mistake. We couldn't ever git
away from them at this gait, and I couldn't hold on forever.
So Tom took a think, and struck another idea. That was,
to kill a lion with the pepper-box revolver, and then sail
away while the others stopped to fight over the carcass.
So he stopped the balloon still, and done it, and then we
sailed off while the fuss was going on, and come down a
quarter of a mile off, and they helped me aboard ; but by
the time we was out of reach again, that gang was on hand
once more. And when they see we was really gone and
they couldn't get us, they sat down on their hams and
looked up at us so kind of disappointed that it was as
much as a person could do not to see their side of the
matter.

CHAPTER VI
IT'S A CARAVAN

I WAS so weak that the only thing I wanted was a chance
to lay down, so I made straight for my locker-bunk, and
ttretched myself out there. But a body couldn't get back
\is strength in no such oven as that, so Tom give the com
mand to soar, and Jim started her aloft.

We had to go up a mile before we struck comfortable
weather where it was breezy and pleasant and just right,
and pretty soon I was all straight again. Tom had been
setting quiet and thinking ; but now he jumps up and
says :

" I bet you a thousand to one / know where we are.
We're in the Great Sahara, as sure as guns !"

He was so excited he couldn't hold still ; but I wasn't.
I says :

" Well, then, where's the Great Sahara ? In England or
in Scotland ?"

"'Tain't in either; it's in Africa."

Jim's eyes bugged out, and he begun to stare down with
no end of interest, because that was where his originals
come from ; but I didn't more than half believe it. I
couldn't, you know ; it seemed too awful far away for us to
have travelled.

But Tom was full of his discovery, as he called it, and
said the lions and the sand meant the Great Desert, sure.
He said he could 'a' found out, before we sighted land, that

WE SWOOPED DOWN, NOW, ALL OF A SUDDEN

we was crowding the land somewheres, if he had thought
of one thing ; and when we asked him what, he said :

"These clocks. They're chronometers. You always
read about them in sea voyages. One of them is keeping
Grinnage time, and the other is keeping St. Louis time,
like my watch. When we left St. Louis it was four in the
afternoon by my watch and this clock, and it was ten at
night by this Grinnage clock. Well, at this time of the
year the sun sets at about seven o'clock. Now I noticed
the time yesterday evening when the sun went down, and
it was half-past five o'clock by the Grinnage clock, and half-
past eleven A.M. by my watch and the other clock. You
see, the sun rose and set by my watch in St. Louis, and
the Grinnage clock was six hours fast; but we've come
so far east that it comes within less than half an hour of
setting by the Grinnage clock, now, and I'm away out —
more than four hours and a half out. You see, that meant
that we was closing up on the longitude of Ireland, and
would strike it before long if we was p'inted right — which we
wasn't. No, sir, we've been a-wandering — wandering 'way
down south of east, and it's my opinion we are in Africa.
Look at this map. You see how the shoulder of Africa
sticks out to the west. Think how fast we've travelled; if
we had gone straight east we would be long past England by
this time. You watch for noon, all of you, and we'll stand
up, and when we can't cast a shadow we'll find that this
Grinnage clock is coming mighty close to marking twelve.
Yes, sir, /think we're in Africa; and it's just bully."

Jim was gazing down with the glass. He shook his
head and says :

" Mars Tom, I reckon dey's a mistake som'er's. I hain't /
seen no niggers yit."

" That's nothing ; they don't live in the desert. What is
that, 'way off yonder ? Gimme a glass."

He took a long look, and said it was like a black string
stretched across the sand, but he couldn't guess what it was.

" Well," I says, " I reckon maybe you've got a chance,
now, to find out whereabouts this balloon is, because as
like as not that is one of these lines here, that's on the map,
that you call meridians of longitude, and we can drop down
and look at its number, and —

" Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, I never see such a lunkhead as
you. Did you s'pose there's meridians of longitude on the
earth ?"

" Tom Sawyer, they're set down on the map, ami you
know it perfectly well, and here they are, and you can see
for yourself."

" Of course they're on the map, but that's nothing ; there
ain't any on the ground"

" Tom, do you know that to be so ?"

" Certainly I do."

"Well, then, that map's a liar again. I never see such a
liar as that map."

He fired up at that, and I was ready for him, and Jim was
warming his opinion, too, and next minute we'd 'a' broke
loose on another argument, if Tom hadn't dropped the glass
and begun to clap his hands like a maniac and sing out —

"Camels!— Camels!"

So I grabbed a glass, and Jim, too, and took a look, but
I was disappointed, and says —

"Camels your granny; ther're spiders."

" Spiders in a desert, you shad ? Spiders walking in a
procession ? You don't ever reflect, Huck Finn, and I
reckon you really haven't got anything to reflect with. Don't
you know we're as much as a mile up in the air, and that that
string of crawlers is two or three miles away? Spiders,
good land ! Spiders as big as a cow? Perhaps you'd like
to go down and milk one of 'em. But they're camels, just

THE LAST MAN TO GO SNATCHED UP A CHILD, AND CARRIED IT OFF IN
FRONT OF HIM ON HIS HORSE"

the same. It's a caravan, that's what it is, and it's a mile
long."

" Well, then, 'e' 's go down and look at it. I don't be
lieve in it, and ain't going to till I see it and know it."

" All right," he says, and give the command : " Lower
away."

As we come slanting down into the hot weather, we
could see that it was camels, sure enough, plodding along,
an everlasting string of them, with bales strapped to them,
and several hundred men in long white robes, and a thing
like a shawl bound over their heads and hanging down with
tassels and fringes ; and some of the men had long guns
and some hadn't, and some was riding and some was walk
ing. And the weather — well, it was just roasting. And
how slow they did creep along ! We swooped down, now,
all of a sudden, and stopped about a hundred yards over
their heads.

The men all set up a yell, and some of them fell flat on
their stomachs, some begun to fire their guns at us, and the
rest broke and scampered every which way, and so did the
camels.

We see that v/e was making trouble, so we went up again
about a mile, to the cool weather, and watched them from
there. It took them an hour to get together and form the
procession again ; then they started along, but we could see
by the glasses that they wasn't paying much attention to
anything but us. We poked along, looking down at them
with the glasses, and by-and-by we see a big sand mound,
and something like people the other side of it, and there
was something like a man laying on top of the mound that
raised his head up every now and then, and seemed to be
watching the caravan or us, we didn't know which. As
the caravan got nearer, he sneaked down on the other side
and rushed to the other men and horses — for that is what

they was — and we see them mount in a hurry ; and next,
here they come, like a house afire, some with lances and
some with long guns, and all of them yelling the best they
could.

They come a-tearing down onto the caravan, and the
next minute both sides crashed together and was all mixed
up, and there was such another popping of guns as you
never heard, and the air got so full of smoke you could
only catch glimpses of them struggling together. There
must 'a' been six hundred men in that battle, and it was
terrible to see. Then they broke up into gangs and groups,
fighting tooth and nail, and scurrying and scampering
around, and laying into each other like everything ; and
whenever the smoke cleared a little you could see dead
and wounded people and camels scattered far and wide
and all about, and camels racing off in every direction.

At last the robbers see they couldn't win, so their chief
sounded a signal, and all that was left of them broke away
and went scampering across the plain. The last man to go
snatched up a child and carried it off in front of him on his
horse, and a woman run screaming and begging after him,
and followed him away off across the plain till she was
separated a long ways from her people ; but it warn't no
use, and she had to give it up, and we see her sink down
on the sand and cover her face with her hands. Then Tom
took the helium, and started for that yahoo, and we come
a-whizzing down and made a swoop, and knocked him out
of the saddle, child and all ; and he was jarred considerable,
but the child wasn't hurt, but laid there working its hands
and legs in the air like a tumble-bug that's on its back and
can't turn over. The man went staggering off to overtake
his horse, and didn't know what had hit him, for we was
three or four hundred yards up in the air by this time.

We judged the woman would go and get the child, now;

WE COME A- WHIZZING DOWN, MADE A SWOOP, AND KNOCKED HIM
OUT OF THE SADDLE, CHILD AND ALL*'

but she didn't. We could see her, through the glass, still
setting there, with her head bowed down on her knees ; so
of course she hadn't seen the performance, and thought her
child was clean gone with the man. She was nearly a half
a mile from her people, so we thought we might go down to
the child, which was about a quarter of a mile beyond her,
and snake it to her before the caravan people could git to
us to do us any harm ; and besides, we reckoned they had
enough business on their hands for one while, anyway, with
the wounded. We thought we'd chance it, and we did. WTe
swooped down and stopped, and Jim shinned down the
ladder and fetched up the kid, which was a nice fat little
thing, and in a noble good humor, too, considering it was
just out of a battle and been tumbled off of a horse ; and
then we started for the mother, and stopped back of her and
tolerable near by, and Jim slipped down and crept up easy,
and when he was close back of her the child goo-goo'd, the
way a child does, and she heard it, and whirled and fetched
a shriek of joy, and made a jump for the kid and snatched
it and hugged it, and dropped it and hugged Jim, and then
snatched off a gold chain and hung it around Jim's neck,
and hugged him again, and jerked up the child again, a-
sobbing and glorifying all the time ; and Jim he shoved for
the ladder and up it, and in a minute we was back up in the
sky and the woman was staring up, with the back of her
head between her shoulders and the child with its arms
locked around her neck. And there she stood, as long as
we was in sight a-sailing away in the sky.

CHAPTER VII
TOM RESPECTS THE FLEA

" NOON I" says Tom, and so it was. His shadder was just
a blot around his feet. We looked, and the Grinnage clock
was so close to twelve the difference didn't amount to noth
ing. So Tom said. London was right north of us or right
south of us, one or t'other, and he reckoned by the weather
and the sand and the camels it was north ; and a good many
miles north, too ; as many as from New York to the city of
Mexico, he guessed.

Jim said he reckoned a balloon was a good deal the fast
est thing in the world, unless it might be some kinds of
birds — a wild pigeon, maybe, or a railroad.

But Tom said he had read about railroads in England
going nearly a hundred miles an hour for a little ways, and
there never was a bird in the world that could do that — ex
cept one, and that was a flea.

" A flea ? Why, Mars Tom, in de fust place he ain't a
bird, strickly speakin'—

" He ain't a bird, eh ? Well, then, what is he ?"

" I don't rightly know, Mars Tom, but I speck he's only
jist a' animal. No, I reckon dat won't do, nuther, he ain't
big enough for a' animal. He mus' be a bug. Yassir, dat's
what he is, he's a bug."

" I bet he ain't, but let it go. What's your second place ?"

" Well, in de second place, birds is creturs dat goes a long
ways, but a flea don't."

*• ' AND WHERE'S YOUR RAILROAD, ALONGSIDE OF A FLEA ?'

" He don't, don't he ? Come, now, what is a long distance,
if you know ?"

" Why, it's miles, and lots of 'em — anybody knows dat."

" Can't a man walk miles ?"

"Yassir, he kin."

" As many as a railroad ?"

" Yassir, if you give him time."

" Can't a flea ?"

" Well, — I s'pose so — ef you gives him heaps of time."

" Now you begin to see, don't you, that distance ain't the
thing to judge by, at all ; it's the time it takes to go the dis
tance in that counts, ain't it?"

" Well, hit do look sorter so, but I wouldn't 'a' b'lieved it,
Mars Tom."

" It's a matter of proportion, that's what it is ; and when
you come to gauge a thing's speed by its size, where's your
bird and your man and your railroad, alongside of a flea ?
The fastest man can't run more than about ten miles in an
hour — not much over ten thousand times his own length.
But all the books says any common ordinary third-class
flea can jump a hundred and fifty times his own length ;
yes, and he can make five jumps a second too,— seven hun
dred and fifty times his own length, in one little second —
for he don't fool away any time stopping and starting — he
does them both at the same time ; you'll see, if you try to
put your finger on him. Now that's a common, ordinary,
third-class flea's gait ; but you take an Eyetalian yfr^-class,
that's been' the pet of the nobility all his life, and hasn't ever
knowed what want or sickness or exposure was, and he can
jump more than three hundred times his own length, and
keep it up all day, five such jumps every second, which is
fifteen hundred times his own length. Well, suppose a man
could go fifteen hundred times his own length in a second —
say, a mile and a half. It's ninety miles a minute; it's

4TS

considerable more than five thousand miles an hour.
Where's your man now? — yes, and your bird, and your
railroad, and your balloon ? Laws, they don't amount to
shucks 'longside of a flea. A flea is just a comet b'iled
down small."

Jim was a good deal astonished, and so was I. Jim
said —

" Is dem figgers jist edjackly true, en no jokin' en no lies,
Mars Tom ?"

"Yes, they are ; they're perfectly true."

" Well, den, honey, a body's got to respec' a flea. I ain't
had no respec' for urn befo', sca'sely, but dey ain't no gittin'
roun' it, dey do deserve it, dat's certain."

" Well, I bet they do. They've got ever so much more
sense, and brains, and brightness, in proportion to their size,
than any other cretur in the world. A person can learn
them 'most anything ; and they learn it quicker than any
other cretur, too. They've been learnt to haul little car
riages in harness, and go this way and that way and t'other
way according to their orders ; yes, and to march and drill
like soldiers, doing it as exact, according to orders, as sol
diers does it. They've been learnt to do all sorts of hard
and troublesome things. S'pose you could cultivate a flea
up to the size of a man, and keep his natural smartness
a-growing and a-growing right along up, bigger and bigger,
and keener and keener, in the same proportion — where'd the
human race be, do you reckon ? That flea would be Presi
dent of the United States, and you couldn't any more pre
vent it than you can prevent lightning."

" My Ian', Mars Tom, I never knowed dey was so much
to de beas'. No, sir, I never had no idea of it, and dat's
de fac'."

" There's more to him, by a long sight, than there is to
any other cretur, man or beast, in proportion to size. He's

fc'

the interestingest of them all. People have so much to say
about an ant's strength, and an elephant's, and a locomo
tive's. Shucks, they don't begin with a flea. He can lift
two or three hundred times his own weight. And none of
them can come anywhere near it. And, moreover, he has
got notions of his own, and is very particular, and you can't
fool him ; his instinct, or his judgment, or whatever it is, is
perfectly sound and clear, and don't ever make a mistake.
People think all humans are alike to a flea. It ain't so.
There's folks that he won't go near, hungry or not hungry,
and I'm one of them. I've never had one of them on me
in my life."

" Mars Tom !"

" It's so ; I ain't joking."

" Well, sah, I hain't ever heard de likes o' dat befo'."

Jim couldn't believe it, and I couldn't ; so we had to drop
down to the sand and git a supply and see. Tom was
right. They went for me and Jim by the thousand, but not
a one of them lit on Tom. There warn't no explaining it,
but there it was and there warn't no getting around it. He
said it had always been just so, and he'd just as soon be
where there was a million of them as not ; they'd never
touch him nor bother him.

We went up to the cold weather to freeze 'em out, and
stayed a little spell, and then come back to the comfortable
weather and went lazying along twenty or twenty-five miles
an hour, the way we'd been doing for the last few hours.
The reason was, that the longer we was in that solemn,
peaceful desert, the more the hurry and fuss got kind of
soothed down in us, and the more happier and contented
and satisfied we got to feeling, and the more we got to lik
ing the desert, and then loving it. So we had cramped the
speed down, as I was saying, and was having a most noble
good lazy time, sometimes watching through the glasses,

sometimes stretched out on the lockers reading, sometimes
taking a nap.

It didn't seem like we was the same lot that was in such
a state to find land and git ashore, but it was. But we had
got over that — clean over it. We was used to the balloon,
now, and not afraid any more, and didn't want to be any
wheres else. Why, it seemed just like home ; it 'most
seemed as if I had been born and raised in it, and Jim and
Tom said the same. And always I had had hateful people
around me, a-nagging at me, and pestering of me, and
scolding, and finding fault, and fussing and bothering, and
sticking to me, and keeping after me, and making me do
this, and making me do that and t'other, and always select
ing out the things I didn't want to do, and then giving me
Sam Hill because I shirked and done something else, and
just aggravating the life out of a body all the time ; but up
here in the sky it was so still and sunshiny and lovely, and
plenty to eat, and plenty of sleep, and strange things to see,
and no nagging and no pestering, and no good people, and
just holiday all the time. Land, I warn't in no hurry to git
out and buck at civilization again. Now, one of the worst
things about civilization is, that anybody that gits a letter
with trouble in it comes and tells you all about it and
makes you feel bad, and the newspapers fetches you the
troubles of everybody all over the world, and keeps you
down-hearted and dismal 'most all the time, and it's such a
heavy load for a person. I hate them newspapers ; and I
hate letters ; and if I had my way I wouldn't allow nobody
to load his troubles onto other folks he ain't acquainted
with, on t'other side of the world, that way. Well, up in a
balloon there ain't any of that, and it's the darlingest place
there is.

We had supper, and that night was one of the prettiest
nights I ever see. The moon made it just like daylight,

only a heap softer; and once we see a lion standing all
alone by himself, just all alone on the earth, it seemed
like, and his shadder laid on the sand by him like a puddle
of ink. That's the kind of moonlight to have.

Mainly we laid on our backs and talked ; we didn't want
to go to sleep. Tom said we was right in the midst of the
Arabian Nights, now. He said it was right along here that
one of the cutest things in that book happened ; so we
looked down and watched while he told about it, because
there ain't anything that is so interesting to look at as a
place that a book has talked about. It was a tale about a
camel-driver that had lost his camel, and he come along in
the desert and met a man, and says —

" Have you run across a stray camel to-day ?"

And the man says —

" Was he blind in his left eye ?"

" Yes."

" Had he lost an upper front tooth ?"

" Yes."

" Was his off hind leg lame ?"

" Yes."

" Was he loaded with millet-seed on one side and honey
on the other?"

" Yes, but you needn't go into no more details — that's
the one, and I'm in a hurry. Where did you see him ?"

" I hain't seen him at all," the man says.

" Hain't seen him at all ? How can you describe him so
close, then ?"

" Because when a person knows how to use his eyes,
everything has got a meaning to it ; but most people's eyes
ain't any good to them. I knowed a camel had been along,
because I seen his track. I knowed he was lame in his off
hind leg because he had favored that foot and trod light
on it, and his track showed it. I knowed he was blind on

his left side because he only nibbled the grass on the right
side of the trail. I knowed he had lost an upper front
tooth because where he bit into the sod his teeth-print
showed it. The millet-seed sifted out on one side — the
ants told me that ; the honey leaked out on the other —
the flies told me that. I know all about your camel, but
I hain't seen him."

Jim says —

" Go on, Mars Tom, hit's a mighty good tale, and power
ful interestin'."

" That's all," Tom says.

11 All r says Jim, astonished. "What 'come o' de
camel ?"

" I don't know."

" Mars Tom, don't de tale say ?"

" No."

Jim puzzled a minute, then he says —

" Well ! Ef dat ain't de beatenes' tale ever / struck.
Jist gits to de place whah de intrust is gittin' red-hot, en
down she breaks. Why, Mars Tom, dey ain't no sense in
a tale dat acts like dat. Hain't you got no idea whether
de man got de camel back er not ?"

" No, I haven't."

I see, myself, there warn't no sense in the tale, to chop
square off, that way, before it come to anything, but I
warn't going to say so, because I could see Tom was sour
ing up pretty fast over the way it flatted out and the way
Jim had popped onto the weak place in it, and I don't
think it's fair for everybody to pile onto a feller when he's
down. But Tom he whirls on me and says —

" What do you think of the tale ?"

Of course, then, I had to come out and make a clean
breast and say it did seem to me, too, same as it did to
Jim, that as long as the tale stopped square in the middle

and never got to no place, it really warn't worth the trouble
of telling.

Tom's chin dropped on his breast, and 'stead of being
mad, as I reckoned he'd be, to hear me scoff at his tale
that way, he seemed to be only sad ; and he says —

"Some people can see, and some can't — just as that
man said. Let alone a camel, if a cyclone had gone by,
you duffers wouldn't 'a' noticed the track."

I don't know what he meant by that, and he didn't say;
it was just one of his irrulevances, I reckon — he was full of
them, sometimes, when he was in a close place and couldn't
see no other way out — but I didn't mind. "We'd spotted
the soft place in that tale sharp enough, he couldn't git
away from that little fact. It gravelled him like the nation,
too, I reckon, much as he tried not to let on.

CHAPTER VIII
THE DISAPPEARING LAKE

WE had an early breakfast in the morning, and set look
ing down on the desert, and the weather was ever so bam-
my and lovely, although we warn't high up. You have tc
come down lower and lower after sundown, in the desert,
because it cools off so fast ; and so, by the time it is getting
towards dawn you are skimming along only a little ways
above the sand.

We was watching the shadder of the balloon slide along
the ground, and now and then gazing off across the desert
to see if anything was stirring, and then down on the shad
der again, when all of a sudden almost right under us we
see a lot of men and camels laying scattered about, perfect
ly quiet, like they was asleep.

We shut off the power, and backed up and stood over
them, and then we see that they was all dead. It give us
the cold shivers. And it made us hush down, too, and talk
low, like people at a funeral. We dropped down slow, and
stopped, and me and Tom dumb down and went amongst
them. There was men, and women, and children. They
was dried by the sun and dark and shrivelled and leathery,
like the pictures of mummies you see in books. And yet
they looked just as human, you wouldn't 'a' believed it :
just like they was asleep.

Some of the people and animals was partly covered with
sand, but most of them not, for the sand was thin there,

and the bed was gravel, and hard. Most of the clothes had
rotted away ; and when you took hold of a rag, it tore with
a touch, like spider-web. Tom reckoned they had been
laying there for years.

Some of the men had rusty guns by them, some had
swords on and had shawl belts with long, silver-mounted
pistols stuck in them. All the camels had their loads on,
yet, but the packs had busted or rotted and spilt the freight
out on the ground. We didn't reckon the swords was any
good to the dead people any more, so we took one apiece,
and some pistols. We took a small box, too, because it
was so handsome and inlaid so fine ; and then we wanted
to bury the people ; but there warn't no way to do it that
we could think of, and nothing to do it with but sand, and
that would blow away again, of course.

Then we mounted high and sailed away, and pretty soon
that black spot on the sand was out of sight and we wouldn't
ever see them poor people again in this world. We won
dered, and reasoned, and tried to guess how they come to
be there, and how it all happened to them, but we couldn't
make it out. First we thought maybe they got lost, and
wandered around and about till their food and water give
out and they starved to death ; but Tom said no wild ani
mals nor vultures hadn't meddled with them, and so that
guess wouldn't do. So at last we give it up, and judged
we wouldn't think about it no more, because it made us
low-spirited.

Then we opened the box, and it had gems and jewels in
it, quite a pile, and some little veils of the kind the dead
women had on, with fringes made out of curious gold money
that we warn't acquainted with. We wondered if we bet
ter go and try to find them again and give it back ; but
Tom thought it over and said no, it was a country that was
full of robbers, and they would come and steal it, and then

the sin would be on us for putting the temptation in their
way. So we went on ; but I wished we had took all they
had, so there wouldn't 'a' been no temptation at all left.

We had had two hours of that blazing weather down there,
and was dreadful thirsty when we got aboard again. We
went straight for the water, but it was spoiled and bitter,
besides being pretty near hot enough to scald your mouth.
We couldn't drink it. It was Mississippi River water, the
best in the world, and we stirred up the mud in it to see if
that would help, but no, the mud wasn't any better than
the water.

Well, we hadn't been so very, very thirsty before, whilst
we was interested in the lost people, but we was, now, and
as soon as we found we couldn't have a drink, we was more
than thirty-five times as thirsty as we was a quarter of a
minute before. Why, in a little while we wanted to hold
our mouths open and pant like a dog.

Tom said to keep a sharp lookout, all around, every-
wheres, because we'd got to find an oasis or there warn't
no telling what would happen. So we done it. We kept
the glasses gliding around all the time, till our arms got
so tired we couldn't hold them any more. Two hours —
three hours — just gazing and gazing, and nothing but sand,
sand, sand, and you could see the quivering heat-shimmer
playing over it. Dear, dear, a body don't know what real
misery is till he is thirsty all the way through and is certain
he ain't ever going to come to any water any more. At last
I couldn't stand it to look around on them baking plains ; I
laid down on the locker, and give it up.

But by-and-by Tom raised a whoop, and there she was !
A lake, wide and shiny, with pa'm-trees leaning over it
asleep, and their shadders in the water just as soft and
delicate as ever you see. I never see anything look so
good. It was a long ways off, but that warn't anything to

us ; we just slapped on a hundred-mile gait, and calculated
to be there in seven minutes ; but she stayed the same old
distance away, all the time ; we couldn't seem to gain on
her ; yes, sir, just as far, and shiny, and like a dream ; but
we couldn't get no nearer; and at last, all of a sudden,
she was gone !

Tom's eyes took a spread, and he says —

" Boys, it was a Bridge !" Said it like he was glad. I
didn't see nothing to be glad about. I says —

" Maybe. I don't care nothing about its name, the thing
I want to know is, what's become of it ?"

Jim was trembling all over, and so scared he couldn't
speak, but he wanted to ask that question himself if he
could 'a' done it. Tom says —

" What's become of it ? Why, you see, yourself, it's gone."

"Yes, I know; but where's it gone to T"*

He looked me over and says —

" Well, now, Huck Finn, where would it go to ! Don't
you know what a myridge is ?"

" No, I don't. What is it ?"

" It ain't anything but imagination. There ain't anything
to it."

It warmed me up a little to hear him talk like that, and I
says —

" What's the use you talking that kind of stuff, Tom
Sawyer ? Didn't I see the lake ?"

"Yes — you think you did."

"I don't think nothing about it, I did see it."

" I tell you you didn't see it either — because it warn't
there to see."

It astonished Jim to hear him talk so, and he broke in
and says, kind of pleading and distressed —

"Mars Tom,#£ease don't say sich things in sich an awful
time as dis. You ain't only reskin' yo' own self, but you's

reskin' us — same way like Anna Nias en Siffira. De lake
wuz dah — I seen it jis' as plain as I sees you en Huck dis
minute."

I says —

" Why, he seen it himself ! He was the very one that
seen it first. Now, then !"

"Yes, Mars Tom, hit's so — you can't deny it. We all
seen it, en dat prove it was dah."

" Proves it ! How does it prove it ?"

"Same way it does in de courts en everywheres, Mars
Tom. One pusson might be drunk, or dreamy or suthin',
en he could be mistaken; en two might, maybe; but I tell
you, sah, when three sees a thing, drunk er sober, it's so.
Dey ain't no gittin' aroun' dat, en you knows it, Mars
Tom."

" I don't know nothing of the kind. There used to be
forty thousand million people that seen the sun move from
one side of the sky to the other every day. Did that prove
that the sun done it?"

" Course it did. En besides, dey warn't no 'casion to
prove it. A body 'at's got any sense ain't gwine to doubt
it. Dah she is, now — a sailin' thoo de sky, like she allays
done."

Tom turned on me, then, and says —

"What &Q you say — is the sun standing still?"

" Tom Sawyer, what's the use to ask such a jackass
question? Anybody that ain't blind can see it don't stand
still."

" Well," he says, " I'm lost in the sky with no company
but a passel of low-down animals that don't know no more
than the head boss of a university did three or four hun
dred years ago."

It warn't fair play, and I let him know it. I says —

" Throwin' mud ain't arguin', Tom Sawyer."

" Oh, my goodness, oh, my goodness gracious, dah's de
Jake ag'in !" yelled Jim, just then. "Now, Mars Tom, what
you gwine to say?"

Yes, sir, there was the lake again, away yonder across the
desert, perfectly plain, trees and all, just the same as it was
before. I says —

" I reckon you're satisfied now, Tom Sawyer."

But he says, perfectly ca'm —

"Yes, satisfied there ain't no lake there."

Jim says —

" Don't talk so, Mars Tom — it sk'yers me to hear you. It's
so hot, en you's so thirsty, dat you ain't in yo' right mine,
Mars Tom. Oh, but don't she look good ! 'clah I doan'
know how I's gwine to wait tell we gits dah, I's so thirsty."

" Well, you'll have to wait ; and it won't do you no good,
either, because there ain't no lake there, I tell you."

I says —

" Jim, don't you take your eye off of it, and I won't,
either."

'"Deed I won't; en bless you, honey, I couldn't ef I
wanted to."

We went a-tearing along toward it, piling the miles be
hind us like nothing, but never gaining an inch on it — and
all of a sudden it was gone again ! Jim staggered, and
'most fell down. When he got his breath he says, gasping
like a fish —

" Mars Tom, hit's a ghos\ dat's what it is, en I hopes to
goodness we ain't gwine to see it no mo'. Dey's been a lake,
en suthin's happened, en de lake's dead, en we's seen its
ghos' ; we's seen it twiste, en dat's proof. De desert's
ha'nted, it's ha'nted, sho ; oh, Mars Tom, le' 's git outen it •
I'd ruther die den have de night ketch us in it ag'in en de
ghos' er dat lake come a-mournin' aroun' us en we asleep en
doan' know de danger we's in."

" Ghost, you gander ! It ain't anything but air and heat
and thirstiness pasted together by a person's imagination.
If I — gimme the glass !"

He grabbed it and begun to gaze off to the right.

" It's a flock of birds," he says. " It's getting toward
sundown, and they're making a bee-line across our track
for somewheres. They mean business — maybe they're go
ing for food or water, or both. Let her go to starboard ! —
Port your helium ! Hard down ! There — ease up— steady,
as you go."

We shut down some of the power, so as not to outspeed
them, and took out after them. We went skimming along
a quarter of a mile behind them, and when we had followed
them an hour and a half and was getting pretty discouraged,
and was thirsty clean to unendurableness, Tom says —

"Take the glass, one of you, and see what that is, away
ahead of the birds."

Jim got the first glimpse, and slumped down on the locker,
sick. He was most crying, and says —

" She's dah ag'in, Mars Tom, she's dah ag'in, en I knows
I's gwine to die, 'case when a body sees a ghos' de third
time, dat's what it means. I wisht I'd never come in dis
balloon, dat I does."

He wouldn't look no more, and what he said made me
afraid, too, because I knowed it was true, for that has always
been the way with ghosts ; so then I wouldn't look any more,
either. Both of us begged Tom to turn off and go some
other way, but he wouldn't, and said we was ignorant super
stitious blatherskites. Yes, and he'll git come up with, one
of these days, I says to myself, insulting ghosts that way.
They'll stand it for a while, maybe, but they won't stand it
always, for anybody that knows about ghosts knows how
easy they are hurt, and how revengeful they are.

So we was all quiet and still, Jim and me being scared,

and Tom busy. By-and-by Tom fetched the balloon to a
standstill, and says —

'•''Now get up and look, you sapheads."

We done it, and there was the sure -enough water right
under us ! — clear, and blue, and cool, and deep, and wavy
with the breeze, the loveliest sight that ever was. And all
about it was grassy banks, and flowers, and shady groves
of big trees, looped together with vines, and all looking so
peaceful and comfortable — enough to make a body cry, it
was so beautiful.

Jim did cry, and rip and dance and carry on, he was so
thankful and out of his mind for joy. It was my watch,
so I had to stay by the works, but Tom and Jim clumb
down and drunk a barrel apiece, and fetched me up a lot,
and I've tasted a many a good thing in my life, but nothing
that ever begun with that water.

Then we went down and had a swim, and then Tom
came up and spelled me, and me and Jim had a swim, and
then Jim spelled Tom, and me and Tom had a foot-race
and a boxing-mill, and I don't reckon I ever had such a
good time in my life. It warn't so very hot, because it was
close on to evening, and we hadn't any clothes on, anyway.
Clothes is well enough in school, and in towns, and at balls,
too, but there ain't no sense in them when there ain't no
civilization nor other kinds of bothers and fussiness around.

" Lions a-comin' ! — lions ! Quick, Mars Tom ! Jump for
yo' life, Huck !"

Oh, and didn't we ! We never stopped for clothes, but
waltzed up the ladder just so. Jim lost his head straight
off — he always done it whenever he got excited and scared ;
and so now, 'stead of just easing the ladder up from the
ground a little, so the animals couldn't reach it, he turned
on a raft of power, and we went whizzing up and was dan
gling in the sky before he got his wits together and seen

what a foolish thing he was doing. Then he stopped her,
but he had clean forgot what to do next -, so there we was,
so high that the lions looked like pups, and we was drifting
off on the wind.

But Tom he shinned up and went for the works and
begun to slant her down, and back toward the lake, where
the animals was gathering like a camp-meeting, and I judged
he had lost his head, too ; for he knowed I was too scared
to climb, and did he want to dump me among the tigers
and things ?

But no, his head was level, he knowed what he was about.
He swooped down to within thirty or forty feet of the lake,
and stopped right over the centre, and sung out —

" Leggo, and drop !"

I done it, and shot down, feet first, and seemed to go
about a mile toward the bottom ; and when I come up, he
says —

" Now lay on your back and float till you're rested and
got your pluck back, then I'll dip the ladder in the water
and you can climb aboard."

I done it. Now that was ever so smart in Tom, because
if he had started off somewheres else to drop down on the
sand, the menagerie would 'a' come along, too, and might
'a' kept us hunting a safe place till I got tuckered out and
fell.

And all this time the lions and tigers was sorting out the
clothes, and trying to divide them up so there would be
some for all, but there was a misunderstanding about it
somewheres, on account of some of them trying to hog
more than their share 5 so there was another insurrection,
and you never see anything like it in the world. There
must 'a' been fifty of them, all mixed up together, snort
ing and roaring and snapping and biting and tearing, legs
and tails in the air, and you couldn't tell which was which,

"AND ALL THIS TIME THE LIONS AND TIGERS WAS SORTING OUT THE

CLOTHES "

and the sand and fur a-flying. And when they got done,
some was dead, and some was limping off crippled, and
the rest was setting around on the battle-field, some of them
licking their sore places and the others looking up at us
and seemed to be kind of inviting us to come down and
have some fun, but which we didn't want any.

As for the clothes, they warn't any, any more. Every
last rag of them was inside of the animals ; and not agree
ing with them very well, I don?t reckon, for there was con
siderable many brass buttons on them, and there was
knives in the pockets, too, and smoking-tobacco, and nails
and chalk and marbles and fish-hooks and things. But I
wasn't caring. All that was bothering me was, that all we
had, now, was the professor's clothes, a big enough assort
ment, but not suitable to go into company with, if we came
across any, because the britches was as long as tunnels,
and the coats and things according. Still, there was every
thing a tailor needed, and Jim was a kind of jack-legged
tailor, and he allowed he could soon trim a suit or two
down for us that would answer.

5TS

CHAPTER IX
TOM DISCOURSES ON THE DESERT

STILL, we thought we would drop down there a minute,
but on another errand. Most of the professor's cargo of
food was put up in cans, in the new way that somebody
had just invented ; the rest was fresh. When you fetch
Missouri beefsteak to the Great Sahara, you want to be
particular and stay up in the coolish weather. So we
reckoned we would drop down into the lion market and
see how we could make out there.

We hauled in the ladder and dropped down till we was
just above the reach of the animals, then we let down a
rope with a slip-knot in it and hauled up a dead lion, a
small tender one, then yanked up a cub tiger. We had to
keep the congregation off with the revolver, or they would
'a' took a hand in the proceedings and helped.

We carved off a supply from both, and saved the skins,
and hove the rest overboard. Then we baited some of the
professor's hooks with the fresh meat and went a-fishing.
We stood over the lake just a convenient distance above
the water, and catched a lot of the nicest fish you ever see.
It was a most amazing good supper we had ; lion steak,
tiger steak, fried fish, and hot corn-pone. I don't want
nothing better than that.

We had some fruit to finish off with. We got it out of
the top of a monstrous tall tree. It was a very slim tree
that hadn't a branch on it from the bottom plumb to the

top, and there it bursted out like a feather-duster. It was
a pa'm-tree, of course ; anybody knows a pa'm-tree the
minute he see it, by the pictures. We went for coconuts
in this one, but there warn't none. There was only big
loose bunches of things like over- sized grapes, and Tom
allowed they was dates, because he said they answered the
description in the Arabian Nights and the other books.
Of course they mightn't be, and they might be poison ;
so we had to wait a spell, and watch and see if the birds et
them. They done it ; so we done it too, and they was most
amazing good.

By this time monstrous big birds begun to come and
settle on the dead animals. They was plucky creturs;
they would tackle one end of a lion that was being gnawed
at the other end by another lion. If the lion drove the
bird away, it didn't do no good ; he was back again the
minute the lion was busy.

The big birds come out of every part of the sky — you
could make them out with the glass whilst they was still so
far away you couldn't see them with your naked eye. Tom
said the birds didn't find out the meat was there by the
smell ; they had to find it out by seeing it. Oh, but ain't
that an eye for you ! Tom said at the distance of five
mile a patch of dead lions couldn't look any bigger than a
person's finger-nail, and he couldn't imagine how the birds
could notice such a little thing so far off.

It was strange and unnatural to see lion eat lion, and we
thought maybe they warn't kin. But Jim said that didn't
make no difference. He said a hog was fond of her own
children, and so was a spider, and he reckoned maybe a
lion was pretty near as unprincipled though maybe not
quite. He thought likely a lion wouldn't eat his own
father, if he knowed which was him, but reckoned he would
eat his brother-in-law if he was uncommon hungry, and eat

his mother-in-law any time. But reckoning don't settle
nothing. You can reckon till the cows come home, but
that don't fetch you to no decision. So we give it up and
let it drop.

Generly it was very still in the Desert, nights, but this
time there was music. A lot of other animals come to
dinner; sneaking yelpers that Tom allowed was jackals,
and roached-backed ones that he said was hyenas ; and all
the whole biling of them kept up a racket all the time.
They made a picture in the moonlight that was more dif
ferent than any picture I ever see. We had a line out and
made fast to the top of a tree, and didn't stand no watch,
but all turned in and slept; but I was up two or three times
to look down at the animals and hear the music. It was
like having a front seat at a menagerie for nothing, which
I hadn't ever had before, and so it seemed foolish to sleep
and not make the most of it; I mightn't ever have such a
chance again.

We went a -fishing again in the early dawn, and then
lazied around all day in the deep shade on an island, taking
turn about to watch and see that none of the animals come
a-snooping around there after erronorts for dinner. We
was going to leave the next day, but couldn't, it was too
lovely.

The day after, when we rose up toward the sky and sailed
off eastward, we looked back and watched that place till it
warn't nothing but just a speck in the Desert, and I tell you
it was like saying good-by to a friend that you ain't ever
going to see any more.

Jim was thinking to himself, and at last he says—

" Mars Tom, we's mos' to de end er de Desert now, I
speck."

"Why?"

" Well, hit stan' to reason we is. You knows how long

we's been a-skimmin' over it. Mus' be mos' out o' san'.
Hit's a wonder to me dat it's hilt out as long as it has."

" Shucks, there's plenty sand, you needn't worry."

" Oh, I ain't a-worryin', Mars Tom, only wonderin', dat's
all. De Lord's got plenty san', I ain't doubtin' dat; but
nemmine, He ain' gwyne to was'e it jist on dat account ; en
I allows dat dis Desert's plenty big enough now, jist de way
she is, en you can't spread her out no mo' 'dout was'in
san'."

" Oh, go 'long ! we ain't much more than fairly started
across this Desert yet. The United States is a pretty big
country, ain't it ? Ain't it, Huck ?"

" Yes," I says, " there ain't no bigger one, I don't
reckon."

" Well," he says, " this Desert is about the shape of the
United States, and if you was to lay it down on top of
the United States, it would cover the land of the free out
of sight like a blanket. There'd be a little corner sticking
out, up at Maine and away up northwest, and Florida stick-
ing out like a turtle's tail, and that's all. We've took Cali
fornia away from the Mexicans two or three years ago, so
that part of the Pacific coast is ours, now, and if you laid
the Great Sahara down with her edge on the Pacific, she
would cover the United States and stick out past New York
six hundred miles into the Atlantic Ocean."

I say —

" Good land ! have you got the documents for that, Tom
Sawyer ?"

"Yes, and they're right here, and I've been studying them.
You can look for yourself. From New York to the Pacific
is 2600 miles. From one end of the Great Desert to the
other is 3200. The United States contains 3,600,000
square miles, the Desert contains 4,162,000. With the
Desert's bulk you could cover up every last inch of the

United States, and in under where the edges projected out,
you could tuck England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Den
mark, and all Germany. Yes, sir, you could hide the home
of the brave and all of them countries clean out of sight
under the Great Sahara, and you would still have 2000
square miles of sand left."

"Well," I says, " it clean beats me. Why, Tom, it shows
that the Lord took as much pains makin' this Desert as
makin' the United States and all them other countries."

Jim says — " Huck, dat don' stan' to reason. I reckon dis
Desert wa'n't made at all. Now you take en look at it like
dis — you look at it, and see ef I's right. What's a desert
good for? 'Tain't good for nuthin'. Dey ain't no way to
make it pay. Hain't dat so, Huck?"

" Yes, I reckon."

" Hain't it so, Mars Tom ?"

" I guess so. Go on."

" Ef a thing ain't no good, it's made in vain, ain't it ?"

" Yes."

" Now, den ! Do de Lord make anything in vain ? You
answer me dat."

"Well— no, He don't."

" Den how come He make a desert ?"

" Well, go on. How did He come to make it ?"
x " Mars Tom, / b'lieve it uz jes like when you's buildin' a
house ; dey's allays a lot o' truck en rubbish lef ' over. What
does you do wid it ? Doan' you take en k'yart it off en dump
it into a ole vacant back lot ? 'Course. Now, den, it's my
opinion hit was jes like dat — dat de Great Sahara warn't
made at all, she jes happen1 "

I said it was a real good argument, and I believed it was
the best one Jim ever made. Tom he said the same, but
said the trouble about arguments is, they ain't nothing but
theories, after all, and theories don't prove nothing, they only

give you a place to rest on, a spell, when you are tuckered
out butting around and around trying to find out something
there ain't no way to find out. And he says —

" There's another trouble about theories : there's always
a hole in them somewheres, sure, if you look close enough.
It's just so with this one of Jim's. Look what billions and
billions of stars there is. How does it come that there was
just exactly enough star-stuff, and none left over ? How
does it come there ain't no sand-pile up there ?"

But Jim was fixed for him and says —

" What's de Milky Way ? — dat's what / wants to know.
What's de Milky Way ? Answer me dat !"

In my opinion it was just a sockdologer. It's only an
opinion, it's only my opinion and others may think different;
but I said it then and I stand to it now — it was a sock
dologer. And moreover, besides, it landed Tom Sawyer.
He couldn't say a word. He had that stunned look of a
person that's been shot in the back with a kag of nails.
All he said was, as for people like me and Jim, he'd just as
soon have intellectual intercourse with a catfish. But any
body can say that — and I notice they always do, when
somebody has fetched them a lifter. Tom Sawyer was tired
of that end of the subject.

So we got back to talking about the size of the Desert
again, and the more we compared it with this and that and
t'other thing, the more nobler and bigger and grander it
got to look, right along. And so, hunting amongst the
figgers, Tom found, by-and-by, that it was just the same
size as the Empire of China. Then he showed us the
spread the Empire of China made on the map, and the
room she took up in the world. Well, it was wonderful to
think of, and I says —

" Why, I've heard talk about this Desert plenty of times,
but /never knowed, before, how important she was."

Then Tom says—

" Important ! Sahara important ! That's just the way
with some people. If a thing's big, it's important. That's
all the sense they've got. All they can see is size. Why,
look at England. It's the most important country in the
world; and yet you could put it in China's vest-pocket;
and not only that, but you'd have the dickens's own time
to find it again the next time you wanted it. And look
at Russia. It spreads all around and everywhere, and yet
ain't no more important in this world than Rhode Island
is, and hasn't got half as much in it that's worth-saving."

Away off, now, we see a little hill, a-standing up just on
the edge of the world. Tom broke off his talk, and reached
for a glass very much excited, and took a look, and says —

"That's it — it's the one I've been looking for, sure. If
I'm right, it's the one the dervish took the man into and
showed him all the treasures."

So we begun to gaze, and he begun to tell about it out of
the Arabian Nights.

CHAPTER X
THE TREASURE-HILL

TOM said it happened like this.

A dervish was stumping it along through the Desert, on
foot, one blazing hot day, and he had come a thousand
miles and was pretty poor, and hungry, and ornery and
tired, and along about where we are now he run across a
camel-driver with a hundred camels, and asked him for
some a'ms. But the camel-driver he asked to be excused.
The dervish says —

" Don't you own these camels ?"

"Yes, they're mine."

" Are you in debt ?"

« Who— me ? No."

"Well, a man that owns a hundred camels and ain't
in debt is rich — and not only rich, but very rich. Ain't
it so?"

The camel -driver owned up that it was so. Then the
dervish says —

"God has made you rich, and He has made me poor.
He has His reasons, and they are wise, blessed be His
name. But He has willed that His rich shall help His
poor, and you have turned away from me, your brother, in
my need, and He will remember this, and you will lose
by it."

That made the camel-driver feel shaky, but all the same
he was born hoggish after money and didn't like to let go

a cent ; so he begun to whine and explain, and said times
was hard, and although he had took a full freight down to
Balsora and got a fat rate for it, he couldn't git no return
freight, and so he warn't making no great things out of his
trip. So the dervish starts along again, and says —

" All right, if you want to take the risk ; but I reckon
you've made a mistake this time, and missed a chance."

Of course the camel-driver wanted to know what kind of
a chance he had missed, because maybe there was money
in it ; so he run after the dervish, and begged him so hard
and earnest to take pity on him that at last the dervish
gave in, and says —

" Do you see that hill yonder ? Well, in that hill is all
the treasures of the earth, and I was looking around for a
man with a particular good kind heart and a noble, gener
ous disposition, because if I could find just that man, I've
got a kind of a salve I could put on his eyes and he could
see the treasures and get them out."

So then the camel-driver was in a sweat ; and he cried,
and begged, and took on, and went down on his knees, and
said he was just that kind of a man, and said he could fetch
a thousand people that would say he wasn't ever described
so exact before.

"Well, then," says the dervish, "all right. If we load
the hundred camels, can I have half of them ?"

The driver was so glad he couldn't hardly hold in, and
says —

" Now you're shouting."

So they shook hands on the bargain, and the dervish got
out his box and rubbed the salve on the driver's right eye,
and the hill opened and he went in, and there, sure enough,
was piles and piles of gold and jewels sparkling like all the
stars in heaven had fell down.

So him and the dervish laid into it, and they loaded every

THE CAMEL-DRIVER IN THE TREASURE-CAVE

camel till he couldn't carry no more ; then they said good-by,
and each of them started off with his fifty. But pretty soon
the camel-driver come a-running and overtook the dervish
and says —

"You ain't in society, you know, and you don't really
need all you've got. Won't you be good, and let me have
ten of your camels ?"

" Well," the dervish says, " I don't know but what you
say is reasonable enough."

So he done it, and they separated and the dervish started
off again with his forty. But pretty soon here comes the
camel-driver bawling after him again, and whines and slob
bers around and begs another ten off of him, saying thirty
camel loads of treasures was enough to see a dervish
through, because they live very simple, you know, and don't
keep house, but board around and give their note.

But that warn't the end yet. That ornery hound kept
coming and coming till he had begged back all the camels
and had the whole hundred. Then he was satisfied, and
ever so grateful, and said he wouldn't ever forgit the der
vish as long as he lived, and nobody hadn't been so good to
him before, and liberal. So they shook hands good-by,
and separated and started off again.

But do you know, it warn't ten minutes till the camel-
driver was unsatisfied again — he was the low-downest rep-
tyle in seven counties — and he come a-running again. And
this time the thing he wanted was to get the dervish to rub
some of the salve on his other eye.

" Why ?" said the dervish.

" Oh, you know," says the driver.

"Know what?"

"Well, you can't fool me," says the driver. "You're
trying to keep back something from me, you know it mighty
well. You know, I reckon, that if I had the salve on the

other eye I could see a lot more things that's valuable.
Come — please put it on."

The dervish says —

" I wasn't keeping anything back from you. I don't mind
telling you what would happen if I put it on. You'd never
see again. You'd be stone-blind the rest of your days."

But do you know, that beat wouldn't believe him. No,
he begged and begged, and whined and cried, till at last
the dervish opened his box and told him to put it on, if he
wanted to. So the man done it, and sure enough he was as
blind as a bat in a minute.

Then the dervish laughed at him and mocked at him and
made fun of him ; and says —

"Good-by — a man that's blind hain't got no use for
jewelry."

And he cleared out with the hundred camels, and left
that man to wander around poor and miserable and friend
less the rest of his days in the Desert.

Jim said he'd bet it was a lesson to him.

"Yes," Tom says, " and like a considerable many lessons
a body gets. They ain't no account, because the thing
don't ever happen the same way again — and can't. The
time Hen Scovil fell down the chimbly and crippled his
back for life, everybody said it would be a lesson to him.
What kind of a lesson ? How was he going to use it ? He
couldn't climb chimblies no more, and he hadn't no more
backs to break."

" All de same, Mars Tom, dey is sich a thing as learnin'
by expe'ence. De Good Book say de burnt chile shun de
fire."

" Well, I ain't denying that a thing's a lesson if it's a
thing that can happen twice just the same way. There's
lots of such things, and they educate a person, that's what
Uncle Abner always said ; but there's forty million lots of

the other kind—the kind that don't happen the same way
twice — and they ain't no real use, they ain't no more in
structive than the small-pox. When you've got it, it ain't
no good to find out you ought to been vaccinated, and it
ain't no good to git vaccinated afterwards, because the
small -pox don't come but once. But on the other hand
Uncle Abner said that the person that had took a bull
by the tail once had learnt sixty or seventy times as
much as a person that hadn't, and said a person that
started in to carry a cat home by the tail was gitting knowl
edge that was always going to be useful to him, and warn't
ever going to grow dim or doubtful. But I can tell you,
Jim, Uncle Abner was down on them people that's all the
time trying to dig a lesson out of everything that happens,
no matter whether — "

But Jim was asleep. Tom looked kind of ashamed, be
cause you know a person always feels bad when he is talk
ing uncommon fine and thinks the other person is admiring,
and that other person goes to sleep that way. Of course
he oughtn't to go to sleep, because it's shabby; but the
finer a person talks the certainer it is to make you sleep,
and so when you come to look at it it ain't nobody's fault
in particular ; both of them's to blame.

Jim begun to snore — soft and blubbery at first, then a
long rasp, then a stronger one, then a half a dozen horrible
ones like the last water sucking down the plug-hole of a bath
tub, then the same with more power to it, and some big
coughs and snorts flung in, the way a cow does that is chok
ing to death ; and when the person has got to that point he
is at his level best, and can wake up a man that is in the next
block with a dipperful of loddanum in him, but can't wake
himself up although all that awful noise of his'n ain't but
three inches from his own ears. And that is the curiosest
thing in the world, seems to me. But you rake a match to

light the candle, and that little bit of a noise will fetch him.
I wish Iknowed what was the reason of that, but there don't
seem to be no way to find out. Now there was Jim alarm
ing the whole Desert, and yanking the animals out, for miles
and miles around, to see what in the nation was going on
up there ; there warn't nobody nor nothing that was as close
to the noise as he was, and yet he was the only cretur that
wasn't disturbed by it. We yelled at him and whooped at
him, it never done no good ; but the first time there come a
little wee noise that wasn't of a usual kind it woke him up.
No, sir, I've thought it all over, and so has Tom, and there
ain't no way to find out why a snorer can't hear himself snore.

Jim said he hadn't been asleep; he just shut his eyes so
he could listen better.

Tom said nobody warn't accusing him.

That made him look like he wished he hadn't said any
thing. And he wanted to git away from the subject, I
reckon, because he begun to abuse the camel-driver, just
the way a person does when he has got catched in some
thing and wants to take it out of somebody else. He let
into the camel -driver the hardest he knowed how, and I
had to agree with him ; and he praised up the dervish the
highest he could, and I had to agree with him there, too.
But Tom says —

" I ain't so sure. You call that dervish so dreadful lib
eral and good and unselfish, but I don't quite see it. He
didn't hunt up another poor dervish, did he ? No, he
didn't. If he was so unselfish, why didn't he go in there
himself and take a pocketful of jewels and go along and
be satisfied ? No, sir, the person he was hunting for was a
man with a hundred camels. He wanted to get away with
all the treasure he could."

"Why, Mars Tom, he was willin' to divide, fair and
square ; he only struck for fifty camels."

" Because he knowed how he was going to get all of them
by-and-by."

" Mars Tom, he tole de man de truck would make him
Wine."

" Yes, because he knowed the man's character. It was
just the kind of a man he was hunting for— a man that
never believes in anybody's word or anybody's honorable-
ness, because he ain't got none of his own. I reckon there's
lots of people like that dervish. They swindle, right and
left, but they always make the other person seem to swindle
himself. They keep inside of the letter of the law all the
time, and there ain't no way to git hold of them. They don't
put the salve on — oh no, that would be sin ; but they know
how to fool you into putting it on, then it's you that blinds
yourself. I reckon the dervish and the camel -driver was
just a pair — a fine, smart, brainy rascal, and a dull, coarse,
ignorant one, but both of them rascals, just the same."

" Mars Tom, does you reckon dey's any o' dat kind o'
salve in de worl' now ?"

" Yes, Uncle Abner says there is. He says they've got it
in New York, and they put it on country people's eyes and
show them all the railroads in the world, and they go in and
git them, and then when they rub the salve on the other eye
the other man bids them good-by and goes off with their
railroads. Here's the treasure-hill, now. Lower away !"

We landed, but it warn't as interesting as I thought it
was going to be, because we couldn't find the place where
they went in to git the treasure. Still, it was plenty inter
esting enough, just to see the mere hill itself where such a
wonderful thing happened. Jim said he wouldn't 'a' missed
it for three dollars, and I felt the same way.

And to me and Jim, as wonderful a thing as any was the
way Tom could come into a strange big country like this
and go straight and find a little hump like that and tell it in

a minute from a million other humps that was almost just
like it, and nothing to help him but only his own learning
and his own natural smartness. We talked and talked it
over together, but couldn't make out how he done it. He
had the best head on him I ever see ; and all he lacked was
age, to make a name for himself equal to Captain Kidd or
George Washington. I bet you it would 'a' crowded either
of them to find that hill, with all their gifts, but it warn't
nothing to Tom Sawyer ; he went across Sahara and put his
finger on it as easy as you could pick a nigger out of a bunch
of angels.

We found a pond of salt water close by and scraped up
a raft of salt around the edges, and loaded up the lion's skin
and the tiger's so as they would keep till Jim could tan
them.

CHAPTER XI
THE SAND-STORM

WE went a-fooling along for a day or two, and then just
as the full moon was touching the ground on the other side
of the desert, we see a string of little black riggers moving
across its big silver face. You could see them as plain as
if they was painted on the moon with ink. It was another
caravan. We cooled down our speed and tagged along
after it, just to have company, though it warn't going our
way. It was a rattler, that caravan, and a most bully sight
to look at, next morning when the sun come a-streaming
across the desert and flung the long shadders of the camels
on the gold sand like a thousand grand-daddy-longlegses
marching in procession. We never went very near it, be
cause we knowed better, now, than to act like that and
scare people's camels and break up their caravans. It was
the gayest outfit you ever see, for rich clothes and nobby
style. Some of the chiefs rode on dromedaries, the first we
ever see, and very tall, and they go plunging along like they
was on stilts, and they rock the man that is on them pretty
violent and churn up his dinner considerable, I bet you, but
they make noble good time and a camel ain't nowheres with
them for speed.

The caravan camped, during the middle part of the day,
and then started again about the middle of the afternoon.
Before long the sun begun to look very curious. First it
kind of turned to brass, and then to copper, and after that

6TS

it begun to look like a blood-red ball, and the air got hot
and close, and pretty soon all the sky in the west darkened
up and looked thick and foggy, but fiery and dreadful — like
it looks through a piece of red glass, you know. We
looked down and see a big confusion going on in the
caravan, and a rushing every which way like they was
scared; and then they all flopped down flat in the sand
and laid there perfectly still.

Pretty soon we see something coming that stood up
like an amazing wide wall, and reached from the desert
up into the sky and hid the sun, and it was coming like
the nation, too. Then a little faint breeze struck us,
and then it come harder, and grains of sand begun to
sift against our faces and sting like fire, and Tom sung
out —

" It's a sand-storm — turn your backs to it !"

We done it; and in another minute it was blowing a gale,
and the sand beat against us by the shovelful, and the air
was so thick with it we couldn't see a thing. In five
minutes the boat was level full, and we was setting on the
lockers buried up to the chin in sand, and only our heads
out and could hardly breathe.

Then the storm thinned, and we see that monstrous wall
go a-sailing off across the desert, awful to look at, I tell you.
We dug ourselves out and looked down, and where the
caravan was before there wasn't anything but just the sand
ocean now, and all still and quiet. All them people and
camels was smothered and dead and buried — buried under
ten foot of sand, we reckoned, and Tom allowed it might
be years before the wind uncovered them, and all that time
their friends wouldn't ever know what become of that cara
van. Tom said —

" JNow we know what it was that happened to the people
we got the swords and pistols from."

\ \

IN THE SAND-STORM

Yes, sir, that was just it. It was as plain as day now.
They got buried in a sand-storm, and the wild animals
couldn't get at them, and the wind never uncovered them
again until they was dried to leather and warn't fit to eat.
It seemed to me we had felt as sorry for them poor people
as a person could for anybody, and as mournful, too, but
we was mistaken ; this last caravan's death went harder
with us, a good deal harder. You see, the others was total
strangers, and we never got to feeling acquainted with them
at all, except, maybe, a little with the man that was watch
ing the girl, but it was different with this last caravan. We
was huvvering around them a whole night and 'most a
whole day, and had got to feeling real friendly with them,
and acquainted. I have found out that there ain't no surer
way to find out whether you like people or hate them than
to travel with them. Just so with these. We kind of liked
them from the start, and travelling with them put on the
finisher. The longer we travelled with them, and the more
we got used to their ways, the better and better we liked
them, and the gladder and gladder we was that we run
across them. We had come to know some of them so well
that we called them by name when we was talking about
them, and soon got so familiar and sociable that we even
dropped the Miss and Mister and just used their plain
names without any handle, and it did not seem unpolite,
but just the right thing. Of course it wasn't their own
names, but names we give them. There was Mr. Elexan-
der Robinson and Miss Adaline Robinson, and Col. Jacob
McDougal and Miss Harryet McDougal, and Judge Jere
miah Butler and young Bushrod Butler, and these was big
chiefs, mostly, that wore splendid great turbans and sim-
meters, and dressed like the Grand Mogul, and their fami
lies. But as soon as we come to know them good, and like
them very much, it warn't Mister, nor Judge, nor nothing,

any more, but only Elleck, and Addy, and Jake, and Hattie,
and Jerry, and Buck, and so on.

And you know, the more you join in with people in their
joys and their sorrows, the more nearer and dearer they
come to be to you. Now we warn't cold and indifferent,
the way most travellers is, we was right down friendly and
sociable, and took a chance in everything that was going,
and the caravan could depend on us to be on hand every
time, it didn't make no difference what it was.

When they camped, we camped right over them, ten or
twelve hundred feet up in the air. When they et a meal,
we et ourn, and it made it ever so much home-liker to have
their company. When they had a wedding, that night, and
Buck and Addy got married, we got ourselves up in the
very starchiest of the professor's duds for the blow-out, and
when they danced we jined in and shook a foot up there.

But it is sorrow and trouble that brings you the nearest,
and it was a funeral that done it with us. It was next
morning, just in the still dawn. We didn't know the
diseased, and he warn't in our set, but that never made
no difference ; he belonged to the caravan, and that was
enough, and there warn't no more sincerer tears shed over
him than the ones we dripped on him from up there eleven
hundred foot on high.

Yes, parting with this caravan was much more bitterer
than it was to part with them others, which was compara
tive strangers, and been dead so long, anyway. We had
knowed these in their lives, and was fond of them, too, and
now to have death snatch them from right before our faces
whilst we was looking, and leave us so lonesome and
friendless in the middle of that big desert, it did hurt so,
and we wished we mightn't ever make any more friends on
that voyage if we was going to lose them again like that.

We couldn't keep from talking about them, and they

\VIIKM THEY DANCED WE JOINED IN AND SHOOK A FOOT UP THERE1

was all the time coming up in our memory, and looking
just the way they looked when we was all alive and happy
together. We could see the line marching, and the shiny
spearheads a-winking in the sun ; we could see the drome
daries lumbering along; we could see the wedding and the
funeral; and more oftener than anything else we could see
them praying, because they don't allow nothing to prevent
that ; whenever the call come, several times a day, they
would stop right there, and stand up and face to the east,
and lift back their heads, and spread out their arms and
begin, and four or five times they would go down on their
knees, and then fall forwards and touch their forehead to
the ground.

Well, it warn't good to go on talking about them, lovely as
they was in their life, and dear to us in their life and death
both, because it didn't do no good, and made us too down
hearted. Jim allowed he was going to live as good a life
as he could, so he could see them again in a better world ;
and Tom kept still and didn't tell him they was only
Mohammedans; it warn't no use to disappoint him, he was
feeling bad enough just as it was.

When we woke up next morning we was feeling a little
cheerfuller, and had had a most powerful good sleep, be
cause sand is the comfortablest bed there is, and I don't
see why people that can afford it don't have it more. And
it's terrible good ballast, too ; I never see the balloon so
steady before.

Tom allowed we had twenty tons of it, and wondered
what we better do with it; it was good sand, and it didn't
seem good sense to throw it away. Jim says —

" Mars Tom, can't we tote it back home en sell it ? How
long '11 it take ?"

"Depends on the way we go."

"Well, sah, she's wuth a quarter of a dollar a load at

home, en I reckon we's got as much as twenty loads, hain't
we ? How much would dat be ?"

"Five dollars."

"By jings, Mars Tom, le's shove for home right on de
spot! Hit's more'n a dollar en a half apiece, hain't it?"

"Yes."

" Well, ef dat ain't makin' money de easiest ever /struck !
She jes' rained in — never cos' us a lick o' work. Le's
tnosey right along, Mars Tom."

But Tom was thinking and ciphering away so busy and
excited he never heard him. Pretty soon he says —

" Five dollars — sho ! Look here, this sand's worth —
worth — why, it's worth no end of money."

" How is dat, Mars Tom ? Go on, honey, go on !"

" Well, the minute people knows it's genuwyne sand
from the genuwyne Desert of Sahara, they'll just be in a
perfect state of mind to git hold of some of it to keep on
the what-not in a vial with a label on it for a curiosity. All
We got to do, is, to put it up in vials and float around all
over the United States and peddle them out at ten cents
apiece. We've got all of ten thousand dollars' worth of
sand in this boat."

Me and Jim went all to pieces with joy, and begun to
shout whoopjamboreehoo, and Tom says —

" And we can keep on coming back and fetching sand,
and coming back and fetching more sand, and just keep
it a-going till we've carted this whole Desert over there and
sold it out ; and there ain't ever going to be any opposition,
either, because we'll take out a patent."

"My goodness," I says, "we'll be as rich as Creosote,
won't we, Tom ?"

"Yes — Creesus, you mean. Why, that dervish was
hunting in that little hill for the treasures of the earth,
and didn't know he was walking over the real ones for a

thousand miles. He was blinder than he made the
driver."

*' Mars Tom, how much is we gwyne to be worth ?"

" Well, I don't know, yet. It's got to be ciphered, and it
ain't the easiest job to do, either, because it's over four
million square miles of sand at ten cents a vial."

Jim was awful excited, but this faded it out considerable,
and he shook his head and says —

" Mars Tom, we can't 'ford all dem vials — a king
couldn't. We better not try to take de whole Desert, Mars
Tom, de vials gwyne to bust us, sho'."

Tom's excitement died out, too, now, and I reckoned
it was on account of the vials, but it wasn't. He set
there thinking, and got bluer and bluer, and at last he
says —

" Boys, it won't work ; we got to give it up."

" Why, Tom ?"

" On account of the duties."

I couldn't make nothing out of that, neither could Jim.
I says —

" What is our duty, Tom ? Because if we can't git around
it, why can't we just do it ? People often has to."

But he says —

" Oh, it ain't that kind of duty. The kind I mean is
a tax. Whenever you strike a frontier— that's the border
of a country, you know — you find a custom-house there, and
the gov'ment officers comes and rummages amongst your
things and charges a big tax, which they call a duty be
cause it's their duty to bust you if they can, and if you
don't pay the duty they'll hog your sand. They call it con
fiscating, but that don't deceive nobody, it's just hogging,
and that's all it is. Now if we try to carry this sand home
the way we're pointed now, we got to climb fences till we
git tired— just frontier after frontier — Egypt, Arabia, Hin-

dostan, and so on, and they'll all whack on a duty, and so
you see, easy enough, we cadi go that road."

" Why, Tom," I says, " we can sail right over their old
frontiers ; how are they going to stop us ?"

He looked sorrowful at me, and says, very grave —

" Huck Finn, do you think that would be honest ?"

I hate them kind of interruptions. I never said nothing,
and he went on —

" Well, we're shut off the other way, too. If we go back
the way we've come, there's the New York custom-house,
and that is worse than all of them others put together, on
account of the kind of cargo we've got."

" Why ?"

" Well, they can't raise Sahara sand in America, of
course, and when they can't raise a thing there, the duty is
fourteen hundred thousand per cent, on it if you try to fetch
it in from where they do raise it."

" There ain't no sense in that, Tom Sawyer."

" Who said there was ? WThat do you talk to me like
that for, Huck Finn ? You wait till I say a thing's got
sense in it before you go to accusing me of saying it."

" All right, consider me crying about it, and sorry.
Go on."

Jim says —

" Mars Tom, do dey jam dat duty onto everything we
can't raise in America, en don't make no 'stinction 'twix'
anything ?"

" Yes, that's what they do."

" Mars Tom, ain't de blessin' o' de Lord de mos' valua
ble thing dey is ?"

" Yes, it is."

" Don't de preacher stan' up in de pulpit en call it down
on de people ?"

" Yes."

" Whah do it come from ?"

" From heaven."

"Yassir! you's jes' right, 'deed you is, honey — it come
from heaven, en dat's a foreign country. Now den ! do dey
put a tax on dat blessin' ?"

" No, they don't."

" Course dey don't ; en so it stan' to reason dat you's
mistaken, Mars Tom. Dey wouldn't put de tax on po'
truck like san', dat everybody ain't 'bleeged to have, en
leave if ofFn de bes' thing dey is, which nobody can't git
along widout."

Tom Sawyer was stumped ; he see Jim had got him where
he couldn't budge. He tried to wiggle out by saying they
had forgot to put on that tax, but they'd be sure to re
member about it, next session of Congress, and then they'd
put it on, but that was a poor lame come-off, and he knowed
it. He said there warn't nothing foreign that warn't taxed
but just that one, and so they couldn't be consistent with
out taxing it, and to be consistent was the first law of
politics. So he stuck to it that they'd left it out unin
tentional and would be certain to do their best to fix it
before they got caught and laughed at.

But I didn't feel no more interest in such things, as long
as we couldn't git our sand through, and it made me low-
spirited, and Jim the same. Tom he tried to cheer us up
by saying he would think up another speculation for us that
would be just as good as this one and better, but it didn't
do no good, we didn't believe there was any as big as this.
It was mighty hard ; such a little while ago we was so rich, and
could 'a' bought a country and started a kingdom and been
celebrated and happy, and now we was so poor and ornery
again, and had our sand left on our hands. The sand was
looking so lovely, before, just like gold and di'monds, and
the feel of it was so soft and so silky and nice, but now I

couldn't bear the sight of it, it made me sick to look at it,
and I knowed I wouldn't ever feel comfortable again till we
got shut of it, and I didn't have it there no more to remind
us of what we had been and what we had got degraded
down to. The others was feeling the same way about it
that I was. I knowed it, because they cheered up so, the
minute I says le's throw this truck overboard.

Well, it was going to be work, you know, and pretty solid
work, too ; so Tom he divided it up according to fairness
and strength. He said me and him would clear out a fifth
apiece, of the sand, and Jim three-fifths. Jim he didn't
quite like that arrangement. He says —

"Course I's de stronges', en I's willin' to do a share ac-
cordin', but by jings you's kinder pilin1 it onto ole Jim, Mars
Tom, hain't you ?"

" Well, I didn't think so, Jim, but you try your hand at
fixing it, and let's see."

So Jim he reckoned it wouldn't be no more than fair if
me and Tom done a tenth apiece. Tom he turned his back
to git room and be private, and then he smole a smile that
spread around and covered the whole Sahara to the west
ward, back to the Atlantic edge of it where we come from.
Then he turned around again and said it was a good enough
arrangement, and we was satisfied if Jim was. Jim said he
was.

So then Tom measured off our two-tenths in the bow and
left the rest for Jim, and it surprised Jim a good deal to see
how much difference there was and what a raging lot of
sand his share come to, and said he was powerful glad, now,
that he had spoke up in time and got the first arrangement
altered, for he said that even the way it was now, there was
more sand than enjoyment in his end of the contract, he
believed.

Then we laid into it. It was mighty hot work, and tough ;

so hot we had to move up into cooler weather or we couldn't
'a' stood it. Me and Tom took turn about, and one worked
while t' other rested, but there warn't nobody to spell poor
old Jim, and he made all that part of Africa damp, he
sweated so. We couldn't work good, we was so full of laugh,
and Jim he kept fretting and wanting to know what tickled
us so, and we had to keep making up things to account for
it, and they was pretty poor inventions, but they done well
enough, Jim didn't see through them. At last when we got
done we was 'most dead, but not with work but with laugh
ing. By-and-by Jim was 'most dead too, but it was with
work ; then we took turns and spelled him, and he was as
thankful as he could be, and would set on the gunnel and
swab the sweat, and heave and pant, and say how good we
was to a poor old nigger, and he wouldn't ever forgit us.
He was always the gratefulest nigger I ever see, for any
little thing you done for him. He was only nigger outside ;
inside he was as white as you be.

CHAPTER XII
JIM STANDING SIEGE

THE next few meals was pretty sandy, but that don't
make no difference when you are hungry ; and when you
ain't it ain't no satisfaction to eat, anyway, and so a little
grit in the meat ain't no particular drawback, as far as I
can see.

Then we struck the east end of the Desert at last, sailing
on a northeast course. Away off on the edge of the sand,
in a soft pinky light, we see three little sharp roofs like
tents, and Tom says —

" It's the pyramids of Egypt."

It made my heart fairly jump. You see, I had seen a many
and a many a picture of them, and heard tell about them a
hundred times, and yet to come on them all of a sudden,
that way, and find they was real, 'stead of imaginations,
'most knocked the breath out of me with surprise. It's a
curious thing, that the more you hear about a grand and
big and bully thing or person, the more it kind of dreamies
out, as you may say, and gets to be a big dim wavery figger
made out of moonshine and nothing solid to it. It's just
so with George Washington, and the same with them pyra
mids.

And moreover besides, the thing they always said about
them seemed to me to be stretchers. There was a feller
come to the Sunday-school, once, and had a picture of
them, and made a speech, and said the biggest pyramid

covered thirteen acres, and was most five hundred foot
high, just a steep mountain, all built out of hunks of stone
as big as a bureau, and laid up in perfectly regular layers,
like stair-steps. Thirteen acres, you see, for just one build
ing; it's a farm. If it hadn't been in Sunday-school, I
would 'a' judged it was a lie ; and outside I was certain of
it. And he said there was a hole in the pyramid, and you
could go in there with candles, and go ever so far up a long
slanting tunnel, and come to a large room in the stomach
of that stone mountain, and there you would find a big stone
chest with a king in it, four thousand years old. I said to
myself, then, if that ain't a lie I will eat that king if they
will fetch him, for even Methusalem warn't that old, and
nobody claims it.

As we come a little nearer we see the yaller sand come
to an end in a long straight edge like a blanket, and onto it
was joined, edge to edge, a wide country of bright green,
with a snaky stripe crooking through it, and Tom said it
was the Nile. It made my heart jump again, for the Nile
was another thing that wasn't real to me. Now I can tell
you one thing which is dead certain : if you will fool along
over three thousand miles of yaller sand, all glimmering
with heat so that it makes your eyes water to look at it, and
you've been a considerable part of a week doing it, the
green country will look so like home and heaven to you
that it will make your eyes water again.

It was just so with me, and the same with Jim.

And when Jim got so he could believe it was the land of
Egypt he was looking at, he wouldn't enter it standing up,
but got down on his knees and took off his hat, because he
said it wasn't fitten' for a humble poor nigger to come any
other way where such men had been as Moses and Joseph
and Pharaoh and the other prophets. He was a Presby
terian, and had a most deep respect for Mosae which was a

Presbyterian too, he said. He was all stirred up, and
says —

" Hit's de Ian' of Egypt, de Ian' of Egypt, en I's 'lowed to
look at it wid my own eyes ! En dah's de river dat was
turn' to blood, en I's looking at de very same groun' whah de
plagues was, en de lice, en de frogs, en de locus', en de hail,
en whah dey marked de door-pos', en de angel o' de Lord
come by in de darkness o' de night en slew de fust-born in
all de Ian' o' Egypt. Ole Jim ain't worthy to see dis day !"

And then he just broke down and cried, he was so thank
ful. So between him and Tom there was talk enough, Jim
being excited because the land was so full of history — Jo
seph and his brethren, Moses in the bulrushers, Jacob com
ing down into Egypt to buy corn, the silver cup in the sack,
and all them interesting things*, and Tom just as excited
too, because the land was so full of history that was in his
line, about Noureddin, and Bedreddin, and such like mon
strous giants, that made Jim's wool rise, and a raft of other
Arabian Nights folks, which the half of them never done
the things they let on they done, I don't believe.

Then we struck a disappointment, for one of them early
morning fogs started up, and it warn't no use to sail over
the top of it, because we would go by Egypt, sure, so we
judged it was best to set her by compass straight for the
place where the pyramids was gitting blurred and blotted
out, and then drop low and skin along pretty close to the
ground and keep a sharp lookout. Tom took the helium,
I stood by to let go the anchor, and Jim he straddled the
bow to dig through the fog with his eyes and watch out for
danger ahead. We went along a steady gait, but not very
fast, and the fog got solider and solider, so solid that Jim
looked dim and ragged and smoky through it. It was awful
still, and we talked low and was anxious. Now and then
Jim would say —

" Highst her a p'int, Mars Tom, highst her !" and up she
would skip, a foot or two, and we would slide right over a
flat-roofed mud cabin, with people that had been asleep on
it just beginning to turn out and gap and stretch : and once
when a feller was clear up on his hind legs so he could gap
and stretch better, we took him a blip in the back and
knocked him off. By -and -by, after about an hour, and
everything dead still and we a-straining our ears for sounds
and holding our breath, the fog thinned a little, very sudden,
and Jim sung out in an awful scare —

"Oh, for de lan's sake, set her back, Mars Tom, here's
de biggest giant outen de 'Rabian Nights a-comin' for us 1"
and he went over backwards in the boat.

Tom slammed on the back-action, and as we slowed to a
standstill a man's face as big as our house at home looked
in over the gunnel, same as a house looks out of its windows,
and I laid down and died. I must 'a' been clear dead and
gone for as much as a minute or more ; then I come to, and
Tom had hitched a boat-hook onto the lower lip of the giant
and was holding the balloon steady with it whilst he canted
his head back and got a good long look up at that awful
face.

Jim was on his knees with his hands clasped, gazing up
at the thing in a begging way, and working his lips but not
getting anything out. I took only just a glimpse, and was
fading out again, but Tom says —

" He ain't alive, you fools ; it's the Sphinx !"

I never see Tom look so little and like a fly ; but that was
because the giant's head was so big and awful. Awful, yes,
so it was, but not dreadful, any more, because you could
see it was a noble face, and kind of sad, and not thinking
about you, but about other things and larger. It was stone,
reddish stone, and its nose and ears battered, and that give
it an abused look, and you felt sorrier for it, for that.

We stood off a piece, and sailed around it and over it,
and it was just grand. It was a man's head, or maybe a
woman's, on a tiger's body a hundred and twenty-five foot
long, and there was a dear little temple between its front
paws. All but the head used to be under the sand, for
hundreds of years, maybe thousands, but they had just
lately dug the sand away and found that little temple. It
took a power of sand to bury that cretur ; most as much as
it would to bury a steamboat, I reckon.

We landed Jim on top of the head, with an American flag
to protect him, it being a foreign land ; then we sailed off to
to this and that and t'other distance, to git what Tom called
effects and perspectives and proportions, and Jim he done
the best he could, striking all the different kinds of attitudes
and positions he could study up, but standing on his head
and working his legs the way a frog does was the best. The
further we got away, the littler Jim got, and the grander the
Sphinx got, till at last it was only a clothes-pin on a dome,
as you might say. That's the way perspective brings out
the correct proportions, Tom said ; he said Julus Cesar's
niggers didn't know how big he was, they was too close to
him.

Then we sailed off further and further, till we couldn't see
Jim at all, any more, and then that great figger was at its
noblest, a-gazing out over the Nile Valley so still and solemn
and lonesome, and all the little shabby huts and things that
was scattered about it clean disappeared and gone, and
nothing around it now but a soft wide spread of yaller
velvet, which was the sand.

That was the right place to stop, and we done it. We set
there a-looking and a- thinking for a half an hour, nobody a-
saying anything, for it made us feel quiet and kind of solemn
to remember it had been looking over that valley just that
same way, and thinking its awful thoughts all to itself for

JTM STANDING A SIF.r,K

thousands of years, and nobody can't find out what they are
to this day.

At last I took up the glass and see some little black things
a-capering around on that velvet carpet, and some more a-
climbing up the cretur's back, and then I see two or three
wee puffs of white smoke, and told Tom to look. He done
it, and says —

"They're bugs. No — hold on; they — why, I believe
they're men. Yes, it's men — men and horses, both. They're
hauling a long ladder up onto the Sphinx's back — now ain't
that odd ? And now they're trying to lean it up a — there's
some more puffs of smoke — it's guns ! Huck, they're after
Jim!"

We clapped on the power, and went for them a-biling.
We was there in no time, and come a-whizzing down
amongst them, and they broke and scattered every which
way, and some that was climbing the ladder after Jim let
go all holts and fell. We soared up and found him laying
on top of the head panting and most tuckered out, partly
from howling for help and partly from scare. He had
been standing a 'siege a long time — a week, he said, but it
warn't so, it only just seemed so to him because they was
crowding him so. They had shot at him, and rained the
bullets all around him, but he warn't hit, and when they
found he wouldn't stand up and the bullets couldn't git at
him when he was laying down, they went for the ladder,
and then he knowed it was all up with him if we didn't
come pretty quick. Tom was very indignant, and asked
him why he didn't show the flag and command them
to git, in the name of the United States. Jim said he
done it, but they never paid no attention. Tom said he
would have this thing looked into at Washington, and
says—

" You'll see that they'll have to apologize for insulting

7T3

the flag, and pay an indemnity, too, on top of it, even if they
git off that easy."

Jim says —

"What's an indemnity, Mars Tom?"

"It's cash, that's what it is."

" Who gits it, Mars Tom ?"

" Why, we do."

"En who gits de apology?"

"The United States. Or, we can take whichever we
please. We can take the apology, if we want to, and let
the gov'ment take the money."

" How much money will it be, Mars Tom ?"

"Well, in an aggravated case like this one, it will be at
least three dollars apiece, and I don't know but more."

"Well, den, we'll take de money, Mars Tom, blame de
'pology. Hain't dat yo' notion, too ? En hain't it yourn,
Huck?"

We talked it over a little and allowed that that was as
good a way as any, so we agreed to take the money. It
was a new business to me, and I asked Tom if countries
always apologized when they had done wrong, and he says —

" Yes ; the little ones does."

We was sailing around examining the pyramids, you
know, and now we soared up and roosted on the flat top
of the biggest one, and found it was just like what the
man said in the Sunday-school. It was like four pairs of
stairs that starts broad at the bottom and slants up and
comes together in a point at the top, only these stair-steps
couldn't be clumb the way you climb other stairs ; no, for
each step was as high as your chin, and you have to be
boosted up from behind. The two other pyramids warn't
far away, and the people moving about on the sand be
tween looked like bugs crawling, we was so high above
them.

Tom he couldn't hold himself he was so worked up with
gladness and astonishment to be in such a celebrated place,
and he just dripped history from every pore, seemed to me.
He said he couldn't scarcely believe he was standing on
the very identical spot the prince flew from on the Bronze
Horse. It was in the Arabian Night times, he said. Some
body give the prince a bronze horse with a peg in its
shoulder, and he could git on him and fly through the air
like a bird, and go all over the world, and steer it by turning
the peg, and fly high or low and land wherever he wanted to.

When he got done telling it there was one of them un
comfortable silences that comes, you know, when a person
has been telling a whopper and you feel sorry for him and
wish you could think of some way to change the subject
and let him down easy, but git stuck and don't see no way,
and before you can pull your mind together and do some
thing, that silence has got in and spread itself and done
the business. I was embarrassed, Jim he was embarrassed,
and neither of us couldn't say a word. Well, Tom he glow
ered at me a minute, and says —

" Come, out with it. What do you think ?"

I says —

"Tom Sawyer, you don't believe that, yourself."

" What's the reason I don't ? What's to hender me ?"

"There's one thing to hender you: it couldn't happen,
that's all."

"What's the reason it couldn't happen ?"

" You tell me the reason it could happen."

" This balloon is a good enough reason it could happen,
I should reckon."

" Why is it ?"

" Why is it ? I never saw such an idiot. Ain't this
balloon and the bronze horse the same thing
names ?"

100

" No, they're not. One is a balloon and the other's a
horse. It's very different. Next you'll be saying a house
and a cow is the same thing."

" By Jackson, Huck's got him ag'in ! Dey ain't no
wigglin' outer dat !"

" Shut your head, Jim ; you don't know what you're talk
ing about. And Huck don't. Look here, Huck, I'll make
it plain to you, so you can understand. You see, it ain't
the mere form that's got anything to do with their being
similar or unsimilar, it's the principle involved ; and the
principle is the same in both. Don't you see, now ?"

I turned it over in my mind, and says —

" Tom, it ain't no use. Principles is all very well, but
they don't git around that one big fact, that the thing that
a balloon can do ain't no sort of proof of what a horse can
do."

" Shucks, Huck, you don't get the idea at all. Now look
here a minute — it's perfectly plain. Don't we fly through
the air ?"

" Yes."

" Very well. Don't we fly high or fly low, just as we
please ?"

"Yes."

" Don't we steer whichever way we want to ?"

" Yes."

" And don't we land when and where we please ?"

" Yes."

" How do we move the balloon and steer it ?"

" By touching the buttons."

" Now I reckon the thing is clear to you at last. In the
t»ther case the moving and steering was done by turning a
peg. We touch a button, the prince turned a peg. There
ain't an atom of difference, you see. I knowed I could git
it through your head if I stuck to it long enough."

101

He felt so happy he begun to whistle. But me and Jim
was silent, so he broke off surprised, and says —

" Looky here, Huck Finn, don't you see it yet?"

I says —

" Tom Sawyer, I want to ask you some questions."

" Go ahead," he says, and I see Jim chirk up to listen.

" As I understand it, the whole thing is in the buttons
and the peg — the rest ain't of no consequence. A button
is one shape, a peg is another shape, but that ain't any
matter ?"

" No, that ain't any matter, as long as they've both got
the same power."

" All right, then. What is the power that's in a candle
and in a match ?"

" It's the fire."

" It's the same in both, then ?"

"Yes, just the same in both."

" All right. Suppose I set fire to a carpenter shop with
a match, what will happen to that carpenter shop?"

" She'll burn up."

" And suppose I set fire to this pyramid with a candle —
will she burn up ?"

" Of course she won't."

" All right. Now the fire's the same, both times. Why
does the shop burn, and the pyramid don't ?"

" Because the pyramid can't burn."

" Aha ! and a horse can't fly /"

" My Ian', ef Huck ain't got him ag'in ! Huck's landed
him high en dry dis time, /tell you! Hit's de smartes' trap
I ever see a body walk inter — en ef I — "

But Jim was so full of laugh he got to strangling and
couldn't go on, and Tom was that mad to see how neat I
had floored him, and turned his own argument ag'in him
and knocked him all to rags and flinders with it, that all he

102

could manage to say was that whenever he heard me and
Jim try to argue it made him ashamed of the human race.
I never said nothing ; I was feeling pretty well satisfied.
When I have got the best of a person that way, it ain't my
way to go around crowing about it the way some people
does, for I consider that if I was in his place I wouldn't
wish him to crow over me. It's better to be generous,
that's what I think.

CHAPTER XIII
GOING FOR TOM'S PIPE

BY-AND-BY we left Jim to float around up there in the
neighborhood of the pyramids, and we dumb down to the
hole where you go into the tunnel, and went in with some
Arabs and candles, and away in there in the middle of the
pyramid we found a room and a big stone box in it where
they used to keep that king, just as the man in the Sunday-
school said ; but he was gone, now ; somebody had got him.
But I didn't take no interest in the place, because there
could be ghosts there, of course ; not fresh ones, but I don't
like no kind.

So then we come out and got some little donkeys and
rode a piece, and then went in a boat another piece, and
then more donkeys, and got to Cairo ; and all the way the
road was as smooth and beautiful a road as ever I see, and
had tall date-pa'ms on both sides, and naked children
everywhere, and the men was as red as copper, and fine
and strong and handsome. And the city was a curiosity.
Such narrow streets — why, they were just lanes, and crowd
ed with people with turbans, and women with veils, and
everybody rigged out in blazing bright clothes and all sorts
of colors, and you wondered how the camels and the people
got by each other in such narrow little cracks, but they
done it — a perfect jam, you see, and everybody noisy. The
stores warn't big enough to turn around in, but you didn't
have to go in ; the storekeeper sat tailor fashion on his

104

counter, smoking his snaky long pipe, and had his things
where he could reach them to sell, and he was just as good
as in the street, for the camel-loads brushed him as they
went by.

Now and then a grand person flew by in a carriage with
fancy dressed men running and yelling in front of it and
whacking anybody with a long rod that didn't get out of the
way. And by-and-by along comes the Sultan riding horse
back at the head of a procession, and fairly took your
breath away his clothes was so splendid ; and everybody fell
flat and laid on his stomach while he went by. I forgot,
but a feller helped me remember. He was one that had a
rod and run in front.

There was churches, but they don't know enough to keep
Sunday; they keep Friday and break the Sabbath. You
have to take off your shoes when you go in. There was
crowds of men and boys in the church, setting in groups on
the stone floor and making no end of noise — getting their
lessons by heart, Tom said, out of the Koran, which they
think is a Bible, and people that knows better knows
enough to not let on. I never see such a big church in
my life before, and most awful high, it was ; it made you
dizzy to look up ; our village church at home ain't a cir
cumstance to it ; if you was to put it in there, people would
think it was a dry-goods box.

What I wanted to see was a dervish, because I was inter
ested in dervishes on accounts of the one that played the
trick on the camel-driver. So we found a lot in a kind of
a church, and they called themselves Whirling Dervishes ;
and they did whirl, too, I never see anything like it. They
had tall sugar-loaf hats on, and linen petticoats ; and they
spun and spun and spun, round and round like tops, and
the petticoats stood out on a slant, and it was the prettiest
thing I ever see, and made me drunk to look at it. They

was all Moslems, Torn said, and when I asked him what
a Moslem was, he said it was a person that wasn't a Pres
byterian. So there is plenty of them in Missouri, though
I didn't know it before.

We didn't see half there was to see in Cairo, because Tom
was in such a sweat to hunt out places that was celebrated
in history. We had a most tiresome time to find the gran
ary where Joseph stored up the grain before the famine,
and when we found it it warn't worth much to look at, be
ing such an old tumble-down wreck, but Tom was satisfied,
and made more fuss over it than I would make if I stuck
a nail in my foot. How he ever found that place was too
many for me. We passed as much as forty just like it be
fore we come to it, and any of them would 'a' done for me,
but none but just the right one would suit him ; I never see
anybody so particular as Tom Sawyer. The minute he
struck the right one he reconnized it as easy as I would
reconnize my other shirt if I had one, but how he done it
he couldn't any more tell than he could fly ; he said so him
self.

Then we hunted a long time for the house where the boy
lived that learned the cadi how to try the case of the old
olives and the new ones, and said it was out of the Arabian
Nights, and he would tell me and Jim about it when he got
time. Well, we hunted and hunted till I was ready to drop,
and I wanted Tom to give it up and come next day and git
somebody that knowed the town and could talk Missourian
and could go straight to the place ; but no, he wanted to
find it himself, and nothing else would answer. So on we
went. Then at last the remarkablest thing happened I ever
see. The house was gone — gone hundreds of years ago —
every last rag of it gone but just one mud brick. Now a
person wouldn't ever believe that a backwoods Missouri
boy that hadn't ever been in that town before could go and

io6

hunt that place over and find that brick, but Tom Sawyer
done it. I know he done it, because I see him do it. I
was right by his very side at the time, and see him see the
brick and see him reconnize it. Well, I says to myself, how
does he do it ? is it knowledge, or is it instink ?

Now there's the facts, just as they happened : let every
body explain it their own way. I've ciphered over it a good
deal, and it's my opinion that some of it is knowledge but
the main bulk of it is instink. The reason is this. Tom
put the brick in his pocket to give to a museum with his
name on it and the facts when he went home, and I slipped
it out and put another brick considerable like it in its place,
and he didn't know the difference — but there was a differ
ence, you see. I think that settles it — it's mostly instink,
not knowledge. Instink tells him where the exact place is
for the brick to be in, and so he reconnizes it by the place
it's in, not by the look of the brick. If it was knowledge,
not instink, he would know the brick again by the look of it
the next time he seen it — which he didn't. So it shows that
for all the brag you hear about knowledge being such a
wonderful thing, instink is worth forty of it for real un-
erringness. Jim says the same.

When we got back Jim dropped down and took us in,
and there was a young man there with a red skull-cap and
tassel on and a beautiful blue silk jacket and baggy trousers
with a shawl around his waist and pistols in it that could
talk English and wanted to hire to us as guide and take us
to Mecca and Medina and Central Africa and everywheres
for a half a dollar a day and his keep, and we hired him
and left, and piled on the power, and by the time we was
through dinner we was over the place where the Israelites
crossed the Red Sea when Pharaoh tried to overtake them
and was caught by the waters. We stopped, then, and had
a good look at the place, and it done Jim good to see it.

107

He said he could see it all, now, just the way it happened ;
he could see the Israelites walking along between the walls
of water, and the Egyptians coming, from away off yonder,
hurrying ail they could, and see them start in as the Israel
ites went out, and then when they was all in, see the walls
tumble together and drown the last man of them. Then we
piled on the power again and rushed away and huvvered
over Mount Sinai, and saw the place where Moses broke
the tables of stone, and where the children of Israel camped
in the plain and worshipped the golden calf, and it was all
just as interesting as could be, and the guide knowed every
place as well as I know the village at home.

But we had an accident, now, and it fetched all the plans
to a standstill. Tom's old ornery corn-cob pipe had got so old
and swelled and warped that she couldn't hold together any
longer, notwithstanding the strings and bandages, but caved
in and went to pieces. Tom he didn't know what to do.
The professor's pipe wouldn't answer ; it warn't anything but
a mershum, and a person that's got used to a cob pipe knows
it lays a long ways over all the other pipes in this world,
and you can't git him to smoke any other. He wouldn't
take mine, I couldn't persuade him. So there he was.

He thought it over, and said we must scour around and
see if we could roust out one in Egypt or Arabia or around
in some of these countries, but the guide said no, it warn't
no use, they didn't have them. So Tom was pretty glum
for a little while, then he chirked up and said he'd got the
idea and knowed what to do. He says —

" I've got another corn-cob pipe, and it's a prime one,
too, and nearly new. It's laying on the rafter that's right
over the kitchen stove at home in the village. Jim, you and
the guide will go and get it, and me and Huck will camp
here on Mount Sinai till you come back."

" But, Mars Tom, we couldn't ever find de village. I could

io8

find de pipe, 'caze I knows de kitchen, but my Ian', we can't
ever find de village, nur Sent Louis, nur none o' dem places.
We don't know de way, Mars Tom."

That was a fact, and it stumped Tom for a minute. Then
he said —

" Looky here, it can be done, sure ; and I'll tell you
how. You set your compass and sail west as straight as
a dart, till you find the United States. It ain't any trouble,
because it's the first land you'll strike the other side of the
Atlantic. If it's daytime when you strike it, bulge right
on, straight west from the upper part of the Florida coast,
and in an hour and three quarters you'll hit the mouth of
the Mississippi — at the speed that I'm going to send you.
You'll be so high up in the air that the earth will be curved
considerable — sorter like a washbowl turned upside down
— and you'll see a raft of rivers crawling around every
which way, long before you get there, and you can pick out
the Mississippi without any trouble. Then you can follow
the river north nearly, an hour and three quarters, till you
see the Ohio come in ; then you want to look sharp, be
cause you're getting near. Away up to your left you'll see
another thread coming in — that's the Missouri and is a
little above St. Louis. You'll come down low, then, so as
you can examine the villages as you spin along. You'll pass
about twenty-five in the next fifteen minutes, and you'll
recognize ours when you see it — and if you don't, you can
yell down and ask."

" Ef it's dat easy, Mars Tom, I reckon we kin do it—
yassir, I knows we kin."

The guide was sure of it, too, and thought that he could
learn to stand his watch in a little while.

"Jim can learn you the whole thing in a half an hour,"
Tom said. "This balloon's as easy to manage as a
canoe."

109

Tom got out the chart and marked out the course and
measured it, and says —

"To go back west is the shortest way, you see. It's
only about seven thousand miles. If you went east, and
so on around, it's over twice as far." Then he says to the
guide, " I want you both to watch the tell-tale all through
the watches, and whenever it don't mark three hundred
miles an hour, you go higher or drop lower till you find a
storm-current that's going your way. There's a hundred
miles an hour in this old thing without any wind to help.
There's two hundred-mile gales to be found, any time you
want to hunt for them."

" We'll hunt for them, sir."

" See that you do. Sometimes you may have to go up
a couple of miles, and it'll be p'ison cold, but most of the
time you'll find your storm a good deal lower. If you can
only strike a cyclone — that's the ticket for you ! You'll
see by the professor's books that they travel west in these
latitudes ; and they travel low, too."

Then he ciphered on the time, and says —

" Seven thousand miles, three hundred miles an hour —
you can make the trip in a day — twenty-four hours. This is
Thursday ; you'll be back here Saturday afternoon. Come,
now, hustle out some blankets and food and books and
things for me and Huck, and you can start right along.
There ain't no occasion to fool around — I want a smoke,
and the quicker you fetch that pipe the better."

All hands jumped for the things, and in eight minutes
our things was out and the balloon was ready for America.
So we shook hands good -by, and Tom gave his last
orders :

"It's 10 minutes to 2 P.M. now, Mount Sinai time. In
24 hours you'll be home, and it '11 be 6 to-morrow morning,
village time. When you strike the village, land a little

back of the top of the hill, in the woods, out of sight;
then you rush down, Jim, and shove these letters in the
post-office, and if you see anybody stirring, pull your slouch
down over your face so they won't know you. Then you
go and slip in the back way, to the kitchen and git the
pipe, and lay this piece of paper on the kitchen table
and put something on it to hold it, and then slide out
and git away and don't let Aunt Polly catch a sight of
you, nor nobody else. Then you jump for the balloon and
shove for Mount Sinai three hundred miles an hour. You
won't have lost more than an hour. You'll start back at
7 or 8 A.M., village time, and be here in 24 hours, arriving
at 2 or 3 P.M., Mount Sinai time."

Tom he read the piece of paper to us. He had wrote
on it —

"THURSDAY AFTERNOON. Tom Sawyer the Erronort
sends his love to Aunt Polly from Mount Sinai where the
Ark was, and so does Huck Finn, and she will get it to
morrow morning half-past six*

"ToM SAWYER THE ERRONORT."

"That'll make her eyes bulge out and the tears come,"
he says. Then he says —

" Stand by! One— two — three — away you go !"

And away she did go ! Why, she seemed to whiz out of
sight in a second.

Then we found a most comfortable cave that looked out
over the whole big plain, and there we camped to wait for
the pipe.

* This misplacing of the Ark is probably Huck's error, not Tom's.
— M.T.

Ill

The balloon come back all right, and brung the pipe;
but Aunt Polly had catched Jim when he was getting it,
and anybody can guess what happened : she sent for Tom.
So Jim he says —

" Mars Tom, she's out on de porch wid her eye sot on
de sky a-layin' for you, en she say she ain't gwyne to
budge from dah tell she gits hold of you. Dey's gwyne to
be trouble, Mars Tom, 'deed dey is."

So then we shoved for home, and not feeling very gay,
neither.

8T8

TOM SAWYER, DETECTIVE

TOM SAWYER, DETECTIVE*

CHAPTER I

WELL, it was the next spring after me and Tom Sawyer
set our old nigger Jim free, the time he was chained up for
a runaway slave down there on Tom's uncle Silas's farm in
Arkansaw. The frost was working out of the ground, and
out of the air too, and it was getting closer and closer onto
barefoot time every day ; and next it would be marble time,
and next mumbletypeg, and next tops and hoops, and next
kites, and then right away it would be summer and going in
a-swimming. It just makes a boy homesick to look ahead
like that and see how far off. summer is. Yes, and it sets
him to sighing and saddening around, and there's something
the matter with him, he don't know what. But anyway, he
gets out by himself and mopes and thinks ; and mostly he
hunts for a lonesome place high up on the hill in the edge
of the woods, and sets there and looks away off on the big
Mississippi down there a- reaching miles and miles around
the points where the timber looks smoky and dim it's so far

* Strange as the incidents of this story are, they are not inventions,
but facts — even to the public confession of the accused. I take them
from an old-time Swedish criminal trial, change the actors, and transfer
the scene to America. I have added some details, but only a couple of
them are important ones. — M.T.

off and still, and everything's so solemn it seems like every
body you've loved is dead and gone, and you 'most wish
you was dead and gone too, and done with it all.

Don't you know what that is ? It's spring fever. That
is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want
— oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it
just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so ! It seems
to you that mainly what you want is to get away ; get away
from the same old tedious things you're so used to seeing
and so tired of, and see something new. That is the idea ;
you want to go and be a wanderer ; you want to go wander
ing far away to strange countries where everything is mys
terious and wonderful and romantic. And if you can't do
that, you'll put up with considerable less ; you'll go any
where you can go, just so as to get away, and be thankful
of the chance, too.

Well, me and Tom Sawyer had the spring fever, and had
it bad, too ; but it warn't any use to think about Tom trying
to get away, because, as he said, his aunt Polly wouldn't
let him quit school and go traipsing off somers wasting time;
so we was pretty blue. We was setting on the front steps
one day about sundown talking this way, when out comes his
aunt Polly with a letter in her hand and says —

"Tom, I reckon you've got to pack up and go down to
Arkansaw — your aunt Sally wants you."

I 'most jumped out of my skin for joy. I reckoned Tom
would fly at his aunt and hug her head off; but if you be
lieve me he set there like a rock, and never said a word. It
made me fit to cry to see him act so foolish, with such a
noble chance as this opening up. Why, we might lose it if
he didn't speak up and show he was thankful and grateful.
But he set there and studied and studied till I was that dis
tressed I didn't know what to do ; then he says, very ca'm,
and I could a shot him for it :

" Well," he says, " I'm right down sorry, Aunt Polly, but
I reckon I got to be excused— for the present."

His aunt Polly was knocked so stupid and so mad at the
cold impudence of it that she couldn't say a word for as
much as a half a minute, and this give me a chance to nudge
Tom and whisper :

" Ain't you got any sense ? Sp'iling such a noble chance
as this and throwing it away ?"

But he warn't disturbed. He mumbled back :

" Huck Finn, do you want me to let her see how bad I
want to go ? Why, she'd begin to doubt, right away, and im
agine a lot of sicknesses and dangers and objections, and
first you know she'd take it all back. You lemme alone ; I
reckon I know how to work her."

Now I never would 'a' thought of that. But he was
right. Tom Sawyer was always right — the levelest head I
ever see, and always at himself and ready for anything you
might spring on him. By this time his aunt Polly was all
straight again, and she left fly. She says :

" You'll be excused ! You will ! Well, I never heard the •
like of it in all my days ! The idea of you talking like that
to me! Now take yourself off and pack your traps \ and if
I hear another word out of you about what you'll be ex
cused from and what you won't, I lay /'// excuse you —
with a hickory !"

She hit his head a thump with her thimble as we dodged
by, and he let on to be whimpering as we struck for the
stairs. Up in his room he hugged me, he was so out of his
head for gladness because he was going travelling. And he
says :

" Before we get away she'll wish she hadn't let me
go, but she won't know any way to get around it now.
After what she's said, her pride won't let her take it
back."

Tom was packed in ten minutes, all except what his aunt
and Mary would finish up for him; then we waited ten
more for her to get cooled down and sweet and gentle
again ; for Tom said it took her ten minutes to unruffle in
times when half of her feathers was up, but twenty when
they was all up, and this was one of the times when they
was all up. Then we went down, being in a sweat to know
what the letter said.

She was setting there in a brown study, with it laying in
her lap. We set down, and she says :

" They're in considerable trouble down there, and they
think you and Huck '11 be a kind of a diversion for them —
' comfort,' they say. Much of that they'll get out of you and
Huck Finn, I reckon. There's a neighbor named Brace
Dunlap that's been wanting to marry their Benny for three
months, and at last they told him pine blank and once for
all, he couldn't ; so he has soured on them, and they're
worried about it. I reckon he's somebody they think they
better be on the good side of, for they've tried to please
him by hiring his no-account brother to help on the farm
when they can't hardly afford it, and don't want him around
anyhow. Who are the Dunlaps ?"

" They live about a mile from Uncle Silas's place, Aunt
Polly — all the farmers live about a mile apart down there
— and Brace Dunlap is a long sight richer than any of the
others, and owns a whole grist of niggers. He's a widow
er, thirty-six years old, without any children, and is proud
of his money and overbearing, and everybody is a little
afraid of him. I judge he thought he could have any girl
he wanted, just for the asking, and it must have set him
back a good deal when he found he couldn't get Benny.
Why, Benny's only half as old as he is, and just as sweet
and lovely as — well, you've seen her. Poor old Uncle Silas
— why, it's pitiful, him trying to curry favor that way — so

TO BE EXCUSED ' "

hard pushed and poor, and yet hiring that useless Jubiter
Dunlap to please his ornery brother."

" What a name— Jubiter ! Where'd he get it ?"

" It's only just a nickname. I reckon they've forgot his
real name long before this. He's twenty-seven, now, and
has had it ever since the first time he ever went in swim
ming. The school-teacher seen a round brown mole the
size of a dime on his left leg above his knee, and four little
bits of moles around it, when he was naked, and he said it
minded him of Jubiter and his moons ; and the children
thought it was funny, and so they got to calling him Jubi
ter, and he's Jubiter yet. He's tall, and lazy, and sly, and
sneaky, and ruther cowardly, too, but kind of good-natured,
and wears long brown hair and no beard, and hasn't got a
cent, and Brace boards him for nothing, and gives him his
old clothes to wear, and despises him. Jubiter is a twin,"

" What's t'other twin like ?"

"Just exactly like Jubiter — so they say; used to was,
anyway, but he hain't been seen for seven years. He got
to robbing when he was nineteen or twenty, and they jailed
him; but he broke jail and got away — up North here,
somers. They used to hear about him robbing and bur-
glaring now and then, but that was years ago. He's dead,
now. At least that's what they say. They don't hear
about him any more."

" What was his name ?"

" Jake."

There wasn't anything more said for a considerable
while ; the old lady was thinking. At last she says :

" The thing that is mostly worrying your aunt Sally is the
tempers that that man Jubiter gets your uncle into."

Tom was astonished, and so was I. Tom says :

" Tempers ? Uncle Silas ? Land, you must be joking !
I didn't know he had any temper."

120

"Works him up into perfect rages, your aunt Sally says;
says he acts as if he would really hit the man, sometimes.'*

" Aunt Polly, it beats anything I ever heard of. Why, he's
just as gentle as mush."

"Well, she's worried, anyway. Says your uncle Silas is
like a changed man, on account of all this quarrelling. And
the neighbors talk about it, and lay all the blame on your
uncle, of course, because he's a preacher and hain't got any
business to quarrel. Your aunt Sally says he hates to go
into the pulpit he's so ashamed ; and the people have begun
to cool toward him, and he ain't as popular now as he used
to was."

" Well, ain't it strange ? Why, Aunt Polly, he was al
ways so good and kind and moony and absent-minded and
chuckle -headed and lovable — why, he was just an angel!
What can be the matter of him, do you reckon ?"

CHAPTER II

WE had powerful good luck ; because we got a chance in
a stern-wheeler from away North which was bound for one
of them bayous or one-horse rivers away down Louisiana
way, and so we could go all the way down the Upper Mis
sissippi and all the way down the Lower Mississippi to that
farm in Arkansaw without having to change steamboats at
St. Louis : not so very much short of a thousand miles at
one pull.

A pretty lonesome boat ; there warn't but few passengers,
and all old folks, that set around, wide apart, dozing, and
was very quiet. We was four days getting out of the " up
per river," because we got aground so much. But it warn't
dull — couldn't be for boys that was travelling, of course.

From the very start me and Tom allowed that there was
somebody sick in the state-room next to ourn, because the
meals was always toted in there by the waiters. By-and-by
we asked about it — Tom did — and the waiter said it was a
man, but he didn't look sick.

" Well, but ain't he sick ?"

" I don't know ; maybe he is, but 'pears to me he's just
letting on."

" What makes you think that ?"

" Because if he was sick he would pull his clothes off some
time or other — don't you reckon he would ? Well, this one
don't. At least he don't ever pull off his boots, anyway."

"The mischief he don't! Not even when he goes to
bed?"

122

"No."

It was always nuts for Tom Sawyer — a mystery was. If
f you'd lay out a mystery and a pie before me and him, you
-wouldn't have to say take your choice ; it was a thing that
would regulate itself. Because in my nature I have always
run to pie, whilst in his nature he has always run to mystery.
People are made different. And it is the best way. Tom
says to the waiter :

"What's the man's name ?"

" Phillips."

" Where'd he come aboard ?"

" I think he got aboard at Elexandria, up on the Iowa
line."

" What do you reckon he's a-playing ?"

" I hain't any notion — I never thought of it."

I says to myself, here's another one that runs to pie.

"Anything peculiar about him? — the way he acts or
talks ?"

" No — nothing, except he seems so scary, and keeps his
doors locked night and day both, and when you knock he
won't let you in till he opens the door a crack and sees who
it is."

" By jimminy, it's int'resting ! I'd like to get a look at
him. Say — the next time you're going in there, don't you
reckon you could spread the door and — "

" No, indeedy ! He's always behind it. He would block
that game."

Tom studied over it, and then he says :

" Looky here. You lend me your apern and let me take
him his breakfast in the morning. I'll give you a quar
ter."

The boy was plenty willing enough, if the head steward
wouldn't mind. Tom says that's all right, he reckoned he
could fix it with the head steward ; and he done it. He

123

fixed it so as we could both go in with aperns on and toting
vittles.

He didn't sleep much, he was in such a sweat to get in
there and find out the mystery about Phillips ; and more
over he done a lot of guessing about it all night, which
warn't no use, for if you are going to find out the facts of a
thing, what's the sense in guessing out what ain't the facts
and wasting ammunition ? I didn't lose no sleep. I would
n't give a dern to know what's the matter of Phillips, I says
to myself.

Well, in the morning we put on the aperns and got a
couple of trays of truck, and Tom he knocked on the door.
The man opened it a crack, and then he let us in and shut
it quick. By Jackson, when we got a sight of him, we 'most
dropped the trays ! and Tom says :

" Why, Jubiter Dunlap, where'd you come from ?"

Well, the man was astonished, of course ; and first off he
looked like he didn't know whether to be scared, or glad, or
both, or which, but finally he settled down to being glad ;
and then his color come back, though at first his face had
turned pretty white. So we got to talking together while
he et his breakfast. And he says :

" But I ain't Jubiter Dunlap. I'd just as soon tell you
who I am, though, if you'll swear to keep mum, for I ain't
no Phillips, either."

Tom says :

" We'll keep mum, but there ain't any need to tell who
you are if you ain't Jubiter Dunlap."

" Why ?"

"Because if you ain't him you're t'other twin, Jake.
You're the spit'n image of Jubiter."

" Well, I am Jake. But looky here, how do you come to
know us Dunlaps ?"

Tom told about the adventures we'd had down there at

124

His lihcle Silas's last summer, and when he see that there
warn't anything about his folks — or him either, for that
iirtatter — that we didn't know, he opened out and talked per
fectly free and candid. He never made any bones about
His own case ; said he'd been a hard lot, was a hard lot yet,
and reckoned he'd be a hard lot plumb to the end. He
said of course it was a dangerous life, and —

He give a kind of gasp, and set his head like a person
that's listening. We didn't say anything, and so it was very
still for a second or so, and there warn't no sounds but the
screaking of the wood-work and the chug-chugging of the
machinery down below.

Then we got him comfortable again, telling him about
his people, and how Brace's wife had been dead three years,
and Brace wanted to marry Benny and she shook him, and
Jubiter was working for Uncle Silas, and him and Uncle
Silas quarrelling all the time — and then he let go and
laughed.

" Land !" he says, " it's like old times to hear all this tit
tle-tattle, and does me good. It's been seven years and
more since I heard any. How do they talk about me these
days ?"

" Who ?"

" The farmers— and the family."

" Why, they don't talk about you at all — at least only
just a mention, once in a long time."

" The nation !" he says, surprised ; " why is that ?"

" Because they think you are dead long ago."

"No! Are you speaking true? — honor bright, now."
He jumped up, excited.

" Honor bright. There ain't anybody thinks you are
alive."

" Then I'm saved, I'm saved, sure ! I'll go home.
They'll hide me and s*ve my life, You keep mum, Swear

125

you'll keep mum — swear you'll never, never tell on me.
Oh, boys, be good to a poor devil that's being hunted day
and night, and dasn't show his face ! I've never done you
any harm ; I'll never do you any, as God is in the heavens ;
swear you'll be good to me and help me save my life."

We'd a swore it if he'd been a dog ; and so we done it.
Well, he couldn't love us enough for it or be grateful
enough, poor cuss ; it was all he could do to keep from
hugging us.

We talked along, and he got out a little hand-bag and be-'
gun to open it, and told us to turn our backs. We done it,
and when he told us to turn again he was perfectly different
to what he was before. He had on blue goggles and the
naturalest-looking long brown whiskers and mustashes you
ever see. His own mother wouldn't 'a' knowed him. He
asked us if he looked like his brother Jubiter, now.

"No," Tom said; "there ain't anything left that's like;
him except the long hair."

"All right, I'll get that cropped close to my head before
I get there ; then him and Brace will keep my secret, and
I'll live with them as being a stranger, and the neighbors
won't ever guess me out. What do you think ?"

Tom he studied a while, then he says :

" Well, of course me and Huck are going to keep mum
there, but if you don't keep mum yourself there's going
to be a little bit of a risk — it ain't much, maybe, but it's a
little. I mean, if you talk, won't people notice that your
voice is just like Jubiter's; and mightn't it make them
think of the twin they reckoned was dead, but maybe after
all was hid all this time under another name ?" _ ^V

^ " By George," he says, " you're a sharp one ! You're \
perfectly right. I've got to play deef and dumb when'"
there's a neighbor around. If I'd a struck for home and
forgot that little detail— However, I wasn't striking for

126

home. I was breaking for any place where I could get
away from these fellows that are after me ; then I was
going to put on this disguise and get some different clothes,
and—"

He jumped for the outside door and laid his ear against
it and listened, pale and kind of panting. Presently he
whispers :

" Sounded like cocking a gun ! Lord, what a life to
lead !"

Then he sunk down in a chair all limp and sick like, and
wiped the sweat off of his face.

SOUNDED LIKE COCKING A GUN!'

CHAPTER III

FROM that time out, we was with him 'most all the time,
and one or t'other of us slept in his upper berth. He
said he had been so lonesome, and it was such a comfort
to him to have company, and somebody to talk to in his
troubles. We was in a sweat to find out what his secret
was, but Tom said the best way was not to seem anxious,
then likely he would drop into it himself in one of his talks,
but if we got to asking questions he would get suspicious
and shet up his shell. It turned out just so. It warn't
no trouble to see that he wanted to talk about it, but al
ways along at first he would scare away from it when he
got on the very edge of it, and go to talking about some
thing else. The way it come about was this : He got to
asking us, kind of indifferent like, about the passengers
down on deck. We told him about them. But he warn't
satisfied ; we warn't particular enough. He told us to
describe them better. Tom done it. At last, when Tom
was describing one of the roughest and raggedest ones, he
gave a shiver and a gasp and says :

" Oh, lordy, that's one of them ! They're aboard sure —
I just knowed it. I sort of hoped I had got away, but I
never believed it. Go on."

Presently when Tom was describing another mangy, rough
deck passenger, he give that shiver again and says —

" That's him ! — that's the other one. If it would only
come a good black stormy night and I could get ashore.
You see, they've got spies on me. They've got a right to

9T8

128

come up and buy drinks at the bar yonder forrard, and they
take that chance to bribe somebody to keep watch on me —
porter or boots or somebody. If I was to slip ashore without
anybody seeing me, they would know it inside of an hour."

So then he got to wandering along, and pretty soon,
sure enough, he was telling ! He was poking along through
his ups and downs, and when he come to that place he
went right along. He says :

" It was a confidence game. We played it on a julery-
shop in St. Louis. What we was after was a couple of
noble big di'monds as big as a hazel-nuts, which everybody
was running to see. We was dressed up fine, and we
played it on them in broad daylight. We ordered the
di'monds sent to the hotel for us to see if we wanted to buy,
and when we was examining them we had paste counterfeits
all ready, and them was the things that went back to the
shop when we said the water wasn't quite fine enough for
twelve thousand dollars."

" Twelve— thousand — dollars !" Tom says. "Was they
really worth all that money, do you reckon ?"

" Every cent of it."

" And you fellows got away with them ?"

"As easy as nothing. I don't reckon the julery people
know they've been robbed yet. But it wouldn't be good
sense to stay around St. Louis, of course, so we considered
where we'd go. One was for going one way, one another,
so we throwed up, heads or tails, and the Upper Mississippi
won. We done up the di'monds in a paper and put our
names on it and put it in the keep of the hotel clerk, and
told him not to ever let either of us have it again without
the others was on hand to see it done ; then we went down
town, each by his own self — because I reckon maybe we all
had the same notion. I don't know for certain, but I
reckon maybe we had."

" What notion ?" Tom says.

" To rob the others."

" What— one take everything, after all of you had helped
to get it ?"

" Cert'nly."

It disgusted Tom Sawyer, and he said it was the orneri-
est, low-downest thing he ever heard of. But Jake Dunlap
said it warn't unusual in the profession. Said when a per
son was in that line of business he'd got to look out for his
own intrust, there warn't nobody else going to do it for
him. And then he went on. He says :

" You see, the trouble was, you couldn't divide up two
di'monds amongst three. If there'd been three — But
never mind about that, there warrft three. I loafed along
the back streets studying and studying. And I says to
myself, I'll hog them di'monds the first chance I get, and
I'll have a disguise all ready, and I'll give the boys the
slip, and when I'm safe away I'll put it on, and then let
them find me if they can. So I got the false whiskers and
the goggles and this countrified suit of clothes, and fetched
them along back in a hand-bag ; and when I was passing
a shop where they sell all sorts of things, I got a glimpse
of one of my pals through the window. It was Bud Dixon.
I was glad, you bet. I says to myself, I'll see what he
buys. So I kept shady, and watched. Now what do you
reckon it was he bought ?"

" Whiskers ?" said I.

';No."

"Goggles?"

"No."

" Oh, keep still, Huck Finn, can't you, you're only just
hendering all you can. What was it he bought, Jake ?"

" You'd never guess in the world. It was only just a
screw-driver — just a wee little bit of a screw-driver."

130

" Well, I declare ! What did he want with that ?"
" That's what / thought. It was curious. It clean
stumped me. I says to myself, what can he want with that
thing ? Well, when he come out I stood back out of sight,
and then tracked him to a second-hand slop-shop and see
him buy a red flannel shirt and some old ragged clothes —
just the ones he's got on now, as you've described. Then
I went down to the wharf and hid my things aboard the
up-river boat that we had picked out, and then started back
and had another streak of luck. I seen our other pal lay
in his stock of old rusty second -handers. We got the
di'monds and went aboard the boat.

" But now we was up a stump, for we couldn't go to bed.
We had to set up and watch one another. Pity, that was ;
pity to put that kind of a strain on us, because there was
bad blood between us from a couple of weeks back, and we
was only friends in the way of business. Bad anyway, see
ing there was only two di'monds betwixt three men. First
we had supper, and then tramped up and down the deck
together smoking till most midnight ; then we went and set
down in my state-room and locked the doors and looked
in the piece of paper to see if the di'monds was all right,
then laid it on the lower berth right in full sight ; and there
we set, and set, and by-and-by it got to be dreadful hard to
keep awake. At last Bud Dixon he dropped off. As soon
as he was snoring a good regular gait that was likely to
last, and had his chin on his breast and looked permanent,
Hal Clayton nodded towards the di'monds and then tow
ards the outside door, and I understood. I reached and
got the paper, and then we stood up and waited perfectly
still; Bud never stirred; I turned the key of the outside
door very soft and slow, then turned the knob the same
way, and we went tiptoeing out onto the guard, and shut
the door very soft and gentle.

" There warn't nobody stirring anywhere, and the boat
was slipping along, swift and steady, through the big water
in the smoky moonlight. We never said a word, but went
straight up onto the hurricane-deck and plumb back aft,
and set down on the end of the skylight. Both of us
knowed what that meant, without having to explain to one
another. Bud Dixon would wake up and miss the swag,
and would come straight for us, for he ain't afeard of any
thing or anybody, that man ain't. He would come, and we
would heave him overboard, or get killed trying. It made
me shiver, because I ain't as brave as some people, but if I
showed the white feather — well, I knowed better than do
that. I kind of hoped the boat would land somers, and we
could skip ashore and not have to run the risk of this row,
I was so scared of Bud Dixon, but she was an upper-river
tub and there warn't no real chance of that.

" Well, the time strung along and along, and that fellow
never come ! Why, it strung along till dawn begun to
break, and still he never come. ' Thunder,' I says, ' what
do you make out of this ? — ain't it suspicious ?' * Land !'
Hal says, ' do you reckon he's playing us ? — open the
paper !' I done it, and by gracious there warn't anything
in it but a couple of little pieces of loaf-sugar! That's
the reason he could set there and snooze all night so com
fortable. Smart? Well, I reckon! He had had them
two papers all fixed and ready, and he had put one of
them in place of t'other right under our noses.

" We felt pretty cheap. But the thing to do, straight off,
was to make a plan ; and we done it. We would do up the
paper again, just as it was, and slip in, very elaborate and
soft, and lay it on the bunk again, and let on we didn't know
about any trick, and hadn't any idea he was a-laughing at
us behind them bogus snores of his'n ; and we would stick
by him, and the first night we was ashore we1 would get him

drunk and search him, and get the diamonds; and do for
him, too, if it warn't too risky. If we got the swag, we'd got
to do for him, or he would hunt us down and do for us,
sure. But I didn't have no real hope. I knowed we could
get him drunk — he was always ready for that — but what's
the good of it? You might search him a year and never
find—

" Well, right there I catched my breath and broke off my
thought ! For an idea went ripping through my head that
tore my brains to rags — and land, but I felt gay and good !
You see, I had had my boots off, to unswell my feet, and
just then I took up one of them to put it on, and I catched
a glimpse of the heel-bottom, and it just took my breath
away. You remember about that puzzlesome little screw
driver ?"

" You bet I do," says Tom, all excited.

" Well, when I catched that glimpse of that boot heel,
the idea that went smashing through my head was, / know
where he's hid the di'monds ! You look at this boot heel,
now. See, it's bottomed with a steel plate, and the plate
is fastened on with little screws. Now there wasn't a screw
about that feller anywhere but in his boot heels ; so, if he
needed a screw-driver, I reckoned I knowed why."

" Huck, ain't it bully !" says Tom.

" Well, I got my boots on, and we went down and slipped
in and laid the paper of sugar on the berth, and sat down
soft and sheepish and went to listening to Bud Dixon
snore. Hal Clayton dropped off pretty soon, but I didn't ;
I wasn't ever so wide-awake in my life. I was spying out
from under the shade of my hat brim, searching the floor
for leather. It took me a long time, and I begun to think
maybe my guess was wrong, but at last I struck it. It laid
over by the bulkhead, and was nearly the color of the
carpet. It was a little round plug about as thick as the end

133

of your little finger, and I says to myself there's a di'mond
in the nest you've come from. Before long I spied out the
plug's mate.

" Think of the smartness and coolness of that blather
skite ! He put up that scheme on us and reasoned out what
we would do, and we went ahead and done it perfectly
exact, like a couple of pudd'n heads. He set there and
took his own time to unscrew his heel-plates and cut out
his plugs and stick in the di'monds and screw on his plates
again. He allowed we would steal the bogus swag and
wait all night for him to come up and get drownded, and by
George it's just what we done ! / think it was powerful
smart."

" You bet your life it was !" says Tom, just full of ad
miration.

CHAPTER IV

" WELL, all day we went through the humbug of watching
one another, and it was pretty sickly business for two of us
and hard to act out, I can tell you. About night we landed
at one of them little Missouri towns high up toward Iowa,
and had supper at the tavern, and got a room upstairs with
a cot and a double bed in it, but I dumped my bag under
a deal table in the dark hall whilst we was moving along it
to bed, single file, me last, and the landlord in the lead with
a tallow candle. We had up a lot of whiskey, and went to
playing high-low-jack for dimes, and as soon as the whis
key begun to take hold of Bud we stopped drinking, but
we didn't let him stop. We loaded him till he fell out of
his chair and laid there snoring.

" We was ready for business now. I said we better pull
our boots off, and his'n too, and not make any noise, then
we could pull him and haul him around and ransack him
without any trouble. So we done it. I set my boots and
Bud's side by side, where they'd be handy. Then we
stripped him and searched his seams and his pockets and
his socks and the inside of his boots, and everything, and
searched his bundle. Never found any di'monds. We
found the screw-driver, and Hal says, ' What do you reckon
he wanted with that ?' I said I didn't know ; but when he
wasn't looking I hooked it. At last Hal he looked beat and
discouraged, and said we'd got to give it up. That was
what I was waiting for. I says :

" ' There's one place we hain't searched.'

135

" ' What place is that ?' he says.

"'His stomach.'

" ' By gracious, I never thought of that ! Now we're on
the homestretch, to a dead moral certainty. How'll we
manage ?'

" ' Well,' I says, ' just stay by him till I turn out and hunt
up a drug-store, and I reckon I'll fetch something that'll
make them di'monds tired of the company they're keep
ing.'

" He said that's the ticket, and with him looking straight
at me I slid myself into Bud's boots instead of my own, and
he never noticed. They was just a shade large for me, but
that was considerable better than being too small. I got
my bag as I went a-groping through the hall, and in about
a minute I was out the back way and stretching up the
river road at a five-mile gait.

" And not feeling so very bad, neither — walking on di'
monds don't have no such effect. When I had gone fifteen
minutes I says to myself, there's more'n a mile behind me,
and everything quiet. Another five minutes and I says
there's considerable more land behind me now, and there's
a man back there that's begun to wonder what's the trouble.
Another five and I says to myself he's getting real uneasy
— he's walking the floor now. Another five, and I says to
myself, there's two mile and a half behind me, and he's
awful uneasy — beginning to cuss, I reckon. Pretty soon I
says to myself, forty minutes gone — he knows there's some
thing up ! Fifty minutes— the truth's a-busting on him now !
he is reckoning I found the di'monds whilst we was search
ing, and shoved them in my pocket and never let on — yes,
and he's starting out to hunt for me. He'll hunt for new
tracks in the dust, and they'll as likely send him down the
river as up.

"Just then I see a man coming down on a mule, and be-

136

fore I thought I jumped into the bush. It was stupid ! When
he got abreast he stopped and waited a little for me to
come out ; then he rode on again. But I didn't feel gay
any more. I says to myself I've botched my chances by
that ; I surely have, if he meets up with Hal Clayton.

" Well, about three in the morning I fetched Elexandria
and see this stern-wheeler laying there, and was very glad,
because I felt perfectly safe, now, you know. It was just
daybreak. I went aboard and got this state-room and put
on these clothes and went up in the pilot-house — to watch,
though I didn't reckon there was any need of it. I set there
and played with my di'monds and waited and waited for the
boat to start, but she didn't. You see, they was mending her
machinery, but I didn't know anything about it, not being
very much used to steamboats.

" Well, to cut the tale short, we never left there till plumb
noon ; and long before that I was hid in this state-room ;
for before breakfast I see a man coming, away off, that had
a gait like Hal Clayton's, and it made me just sick. I says
to myself, if he finds out I'm aboard this boat, he's got me
like a rat in a trap. All he's got to do is to have me
watched, and wait — wait till I slip ashore, thinking he is a
thousand miles away, then slip after me and dog me to a
good place and make me give up the di'monds, and then
he'll — oh, / know what he'll do ! Ain't it awful — awful !
And now to think the other one's aboard, too ! Oh, ain't it
hard luck, boys — ain't it hard ! But you'll help save me,
won't you ? — oh, boys, be good to a poor devil that's being
hunted to death, and save me — I'll worship the very ground
you walk on !"

We turned in and soothed him down and told him we
would plan for him and help him, and he needn't be so
afeard ; and so by-and-by he got to feeling kind of comfort
able again, and unscrewed his heel-plates and held up his

WALKED ASHORE

137

di'monds this way and that, admiring them and loving them ;
and when the light struck into them they was beautiful,
sure ; why, they seemed to kind of bust, and snap fire out
all around. But all the same I judged he was a fool. If I
had been him I would a handed the di'monds to them pals
and got them to go ashore and leave me alone. But he was
made different. He said it was a whole fortune and he
couldn't bear the idea.

Twice we stopped to fix the machinery and laid a good
while, once in the night ; but it wasn't dark enough, and
he was afeard to skip. But the third time we had to fix it
there was a better chance. We laid up at a country wood-
yard about forty mile above Uncle Silas's place a little after
one at night, and it was thickening up and going to storm.
So Jake he laid for a chance to slide. We begun to take
in wood. Pretty soon the rain come a-drenching down,
and the wind blowed hard. Of course every boat-hand
fixed a gunny sack and put it on like a bonnet, the way
they do when they are toting wood, and we got one for
Jake, and he slipped down aft with his hand-bag and come
tramping forrard just like the rest, and walked ashore with
them, and when we see him pass out of the light of the
torch-basket and get swallowed up in the dark, we got our
breath again and just felt grateful and splendid. But it
wasn't for long. Somebody told, I reckon ; for in about eight
or ten minutes them two pals come tearing forrard as tight
as they could jump and darted ashore and was gone. We
waited plumb till dawn for them to come back, and kept
hoping they would, but they never did. We was awful
sorry and low-spirited. All the hope we had was that
Jake had got such a start that they couldn't get on his
track, and he would get to his brother's and hide there and
be safe.

He was going to take the river road, and told us to find

out if Brace and Jubiter was to home and no strangers
there, and then slip out about sundown and tell him. Said
he would wait for us in a little bunch of sycamores right
back of Tom's uncle Silas's tobacker-field on the river
road, a lonesome place.

We set and talked a long time about his chances, and
Tom said he was all right if the pals struck up the river in
stead of down, but it wasn't likely, because maybe they
knowed where he was from ; more likely they would go
right, and dog him all day, him not suspecting, and kill
him when it come dark, and take the boots. So we was
pretty sorrowful.

CHAPTER V

WE didn't get done tinkering the machinery till away
late in the afternoon, and so it was so close to sundown
when we got home that we never stopped on our road, but
made a break for the sycamores as tight as we could go, to
tell Jake what the delay was, and have him wait till we
could go to Brace's and find out how things was there. It
was getting pretty dim by the time we turned the corner of
the woods, sweating and panting with that long run, and
see the sycamores thirty yards ahead of us ; and just then
we see a couple of men run into the bunch and heard two
or three terrible screams for help. " Poor Jake is killed,
sure," we says. We was scared through and through, and
broke for the tobacker-field and hid there, trembling so our
clothes would hardly stay on ; and just as we skipped in
there, a couple of men went tearing by, and into the bunch
they went, and in a second out jumps four men and took
out up the road as tight as they could go, two chasing
two.

We laid down, kind of weak and sick, and listened for
more sounds, but didn't hear none for a good while but
just our hearts. We was thinking of that awful thing lay
ing yonder in the sycamores, and it seemed like being that
close to a ghost, and it give me the cold shudders. The
moon come a-swelling up out of the ground, now, powerful
big and round and bright, behind a comb of trees, like a
face looking through prison bars, and the black shadders
and white places begun to creep around, and it was miser-

able quiet and still and night-breezy and graveyardy and
scary. All of a sudden Tom whispers?

" Look !— what's that?"

" Don't !" I says. " Don't take a person by surprise that
way. I'm 'most ready to die, anyway, without you doing
that."

"Look, I tell you. It's something coming out of the
sycamores."

" Don't, Tom !"

" It's terrible tall !"

" Oh, lordy-lordy ! let's—"

" Keep still — it's a-coming this way."

He was so excited he could hardly get breath enough to
whisper. I had to look. I couldn't help it. So now we
was both on our knees with our chins on a fence-rail and
gazing — yes, and gasping, too. It was coming down the
road — coming in the shadder of the trees, and you couldn't
see it good ; not till it was pretty close to us ; then it
stepped into a bright splotch of moonlight and we sunk
right down in our tracks — it was Jake Dunlap's ghost )
That was what we said to ourselves.

We couldn't stir for a minute or two; then it was gone.
We talked about it in low voices. Tom says s

"They're mostly dim and smoky, or like they're made
out of fog, but this one wasn't."

" No," I says; " I seen the goggles and the whiskers per
fectly plain."

"Yes, and the very colors in them loud countrified Sun
day clothes — plaid breeches, green and black—"

" Cotton-velvet westcot, fire- red and yaller squares — "

" Leather straps to the bottoms of the breeches legs and
one of them hanging unbuttoned — "

" Yes, and that hat—"

"What a hat for a ghost to wear!"

-V,.

IT WAS JAKE DUNLOP'S GHOST

You see it was the first season anybody wore that kind —
a black stiff-brim stove-pipe, very high, and not smooth,
with a round top — just like a sugar-loaf.

" Did you notice if its hair was the same, Huck ?"

" No — seems to me I did, then again it seems to me I
didn't."

"I didn't either; but it had its bag along, I noticed
that."

" So did I. How can there be a ghost-bag, Tom ?"

" Sho ! I wouldn't be as ignorant as that if I was you,
Huck Finn. Whatever a ghost has, turns to ghost -stuff.
They've got to have their things, like anybody else. You
see, yourself, that its clothes was turned to ghost -stuff.
Well, then, what's to hender its bag from turning, too ?
^f course it done it."

That was reasonable. I couldn't find no faulf v/ith it.
Bill Withers and his brother Jack come along by, talking,
and Jack says:

" What do you reckon he was toting ?"

"I dunno; but it was pretty heavy."

"Yes, all he could lug. Nigger stealing corn from old
Parson Silas, I judged."

" So did I. And so I allowed I wouldn't let on to see
him."

" That's me, too."

Then they both laughed, and went on out of hearing. It
showed how unpopular old Uncle Silas had got to be, now.
They wouldn't 'a' let a nigger steal anybody else's corn and
never done anything to him.

We heard some more voices mumbling along towards us
and getting louder, and sometimes a cackle of a laugh. It
was Lem Beebe and Jim Lane. Jim Lane says ;

« Who ?— Jubiter Dunlap ?"

"Yes."

142

" Oh, I don't know. I reckon so. I seen him spading
up some ground along about an hour ago, just before sun
down — him and the parson. Said he guessed he wouldn't
go to-night, but we could have his dog if we wanted him."

" Too tired, I reckon."

" Yes— works so hard !"

" Oh, you bet !"

They cackled at that, and went on by. Tom said we
better jump out and tag along after them, because they was
going our way and it wouldn't be comfortable to run across
the ghost all by ourselves. So we done it, and got home
all right.

That night was the second of September — a Saturday. I
sha'n't ever forget it. You'll see why, pretty soon.

CHAPTER VI

WE tramped along behind Jim and Lem till we come to
the back stile where old Jim's cabin was that he was capti
vated in, the time we set him free, and here come the dogs
piling around us to say howdy, and there was the lights of
the house, too ; so we warn't afeard any more, and was go
ing to climb over, but Tom says:

" Hold on ; set down here a minute. By George !"

"What's the matter?" says I.

" Matter enough !" he says. " Wasn't you expecting we
would be the first to tell the family who it is that's been
killed yonder in the sycamores, and all about them rapscal
lions that done it, and about the di'monds they've smouched
off of the corpse, and paint it up fine, and have the glory
of being the ones that knows a lot more about it than any
body else ?"

" Why, of course. It wouldn't be you, Tom Sawyer, if
you was to let such a chance go by. I reckon it ain't going
to suffer none for lack of paint," I says, "when you start in
to scollop the facts."

"Well, now," he says, perfectly ca'm, "what would you
say if I was to tell you I ain't going to start in at all ?"

I was astonished to hear him talk so. I says :

" I'd say it's a lie. You ain't in earnest, Tom Sawyer."

" You'll soon see. Was the ghost barefooted ?"

" No, it wasn't. What of it ?"

" You wait — I'll show you what. Did it have its boots
on?"

144

" Yes. I seen them plain."

" Swear it ?"

" Yes, I swear it."

" So do I. Now do you know what that means ?"

" No. What does it mean ?"

" Means that them thieves didn't get the dtmonds"

11 Jimminy ! What makes you think that ?"

" I don't only think it, I know it. Didn't the breeches
and goggles and whiskers and hand-bag and every blessed
thing turn to ghost-stuff ? Everything it had on turned,
didn't it ? It shows that the reason its boots t^ned too was
because it still had them on after it started to go ha'nting
around, and if that ain't proof that them blatherskites
didn't get the boots, I'd like to know what you'd call
f proof."

Think of that now. I never see such a head as that boy
had. Why, / had eyes and I could see things, but they
;«r^c7 r 1 never meant nothing to me. But Tom Sawyer was different.
^ JL*\^ I When Tom Sawyer seen a thing it just got up on its hind
l legs and talked to him — told him everything it knowed. /
never see such a head.

" Tom Sawyer," I says, " I'll say it again as I've said it a
many a time before : I ain't fitten to black your boots. But
that's all right—that's neither here nor there. God Al-
mighty made us all, and some He gives eyes that's blind,:
and some He gives eyes that can see, and I reckon it ain't
none of our lookout what He done it for; it's all right, or;
He'd 'a' fixed it some other way. Go on — I see plenty plain
enough, now, that them thieves didn't get way with the j
di'monds. Why didn't they, do you reckon ?"

" Because they got chased away by them other two men
before they could pull the boots off of the corpse."

" That's so ! I see it now. But looky here, Tom, why
ain't we to go and tell about it ?"

WAS THE GHOST BAREFOOTED ?' ''*

145

" Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, can't you see ? Look at it.
What's a-going to happen ? There's going to be an inquest
in the morning. Them two men will tell how they heard
the yells and rushed there just in time to not save the
stranger. Then the jury '11 twaddle and twaddle and
twaddle, and finally they'll fetch in a verdict that he got
shot or stuck or busted over the head with something, and
come to his death by the inspiration of God. And after
they've buried him they'll auction off his things for to pay
the expenses, and then's our chance."

" How, Tom ?"

" Buy the boots for two dollars !"

Well, it 'most took my breath.

" My land ! Why, Tom, we'll get the di'monds !"

" You bet. Some day there'll be a big reward offered
for them — a thousand dollars, sure. That's our money!
Now we'll trot in and see the folks. And mind you we
don't know anything about any murder, or any di'monds, or
any thieves — don't you forget that."

I had to sigh a little over the way he had got it fixed.
/M 'a' sold them di'monds — yes, sir — for twelve thousand
dollars ; but I didn't say anything. It wouldn't done any
good. I says:

" But what are we going to tell your aunt Sally has made
us so long getting down here from the village, Tom ?"

"Oh, I'll leave that to you," he says. " I reckon you can
explain it somehow."

He was always just that strict and delicate. He never
would tell a lie himself.

We struck across the big yard, noticing this, that, and
t'other thing that was so familiar, and we so glad to see it
again, and when we got to the roofed big passageway be
twixt the double log house and the kitchen part, there was
everything hanging on the wall just as it used to was, even

146

to Uncle Silas's old faded green baize working-gown with
the hood to it, and raggedy white patch between the shoul
ders that always looked like somebody had hit him with a
snowball ; and then we lifted the latch and walked in.
Aunt Sally she was just a-ripping and a-tearing around, and
the children was huddled in one corner, and the old man
he was huddled in the other and praying for help in time
of need. She jumped for us with joy and tears running
down her face and give us a whacking box on the ear, and
then hugged us and kissed us and boxed us again, and just
couldn't seem to get enough of it, she was so glad to see
us ; and she says -

" Where have you been a-loafmg to, you good-for-nothing
trash ! I've been that worried about you I didn't know
what to do. Your traps has been here ever so long, and I've
had supper cooked fresh about four times so as to have it
hot and good when you come, till at last my patience is just
plumb wore out, and I declare I — I — why I could skin you
alive ! You must be starving, poor things !— set down, set
down, everybody ; don't lose no more time."

It was good to be there again behind all that noble corn-
pone and spareribs, and everything that you could ever
want in this world. Old Uncle Silas he peeled off one of
his bulliest old-time blessings, with as many layers to it as
an onion, and whilst the angels was hauling in the slack of
it I was trying to study up what to say about what kept us
so long. When our plates was all leadened and we'd got
a-going, she asked me, and I says :

"Well, you see,— er — Mizzes —

" Huck Finn ! Since when am I Mizzes to you ? Have
I ever been stingy of cuffs or kisses for you since the day
you stood in this room and I took you for Tom Sawyer and
blessed God for sending you to me, though you told me
four thousand lies and I believed every one of them like

a simpleton ? Call me Aunt Sally — like you always
done."

So I done it. And I says :

" Well, me and Tom allowed we would come along afoot
and take a smell of the woods, and we run across Lem
Beebe and Jim Lane, and they asked us to go with them
blackberrying to-night, and said they could borrow Jubiter
Dunlap's dog, because he had told them just that minute — "

" Where did they see him ?" says the old man ; and when
I looked up to see how tie come to take an intrust in a little
thing like that, his eyes was just burning into me, he was
that eager. It surprised me so it kind of throwed me off,
but I pulled myself together again and says :

" It was when he was spading up some ground along
with you, towards sundown or along there."

He only said, " Um," in a kind of a disappointed way,
and didn't take no more intrust. So I went on. I says :

" Well, then, as I was a-saying — "

" That '11 do, you needn't go no furder." It was Aunt
Sally. She was boring right into me with her eyes, and
very indignant. " Huck Finn," she says, " how'd them
men come to talk about going a-blackberrying in September
— in this region ?"

I see I had slipped up, and I couldn't say a word. She I ^
waited, still a-gazing at me, then she says :

" And how'd they come to strike that idiot idea of going
a-blackberrying in the night?"

" Well, m'm, they — er — they told us they had a lantern,
and—"

" Oh, shet up — do ! Looky here ; what was they going to
do with a dog ? — hunt blackberries with it ?"

" I think, m'm, they — " .^_

" Now, Tom Sawyer, what kind of a lie are you fixing
your mouth to contribit to this mess of rubbage ? Speak •

148

out — and I warn you before you begin, that I don't believe
a word of it. You and Huck's been up to something you
no business to — 2 know it perfectly well ; / know you, both
of you. Now you explain that dog, and them blackberries,
and the lantern, and the rest of that rot — and mind you
talk as straight as a string — do you hear ?"

Tom he looked considerable hurt, and says, very dignified :

" It is a pity if Huck is to be talked to that away, just
for making a little bit of a mistake that anybody could make."

" What mistake has he made ?"

" Why, only the mistake of saying blackberries when of
course he meant strawberries."

"Tom Sawyer, I lay if you aggravate me a little more,
I'll—"

"Aunt Sally, without knowing it — and of course without
intending it — you are in the wrong. If you'd 'a' studied
natural history the way you ought, you would know that all
over the world except just here in Arkansaw they always
hunt strawberries with a dog — and a lantern — "

But she busted in on him there and just piled into him and
snowed him under. She was so mad she couldn't get the
words out fast enough, and she gushed them out in one ever
lasting freshet. That was what Tom Sawyer was after. He
allowed to work her up and get her started and then leave
her alone and let her burn herself out. Then she would
be so aggravated with that subject that she wouldn't say
another word about it, nor let anybody else. Well, it
happened just so. When she was tuckered out and had to
hold up, he says, quite ca'm :

"And yet, all the same, Aunt Sally — "

" Shet up!" she says, "I don't want to hear another
word out of you."

So we was perfectly safe, then, and didn't have no more
trouble about that delay. Tom done it elegant.

CHAPTER VII

BENNY she was looking pretty sober, and she sighed
some, now and then ; but pretty soon she got to asking
about Mary, and Sid, and Tom's aunt Polly, and then Aunt
Sally's clouds cleared off and she got in a good humor and
joined in on the questions and was her lovingest best self,
and so the rest of the supper went along gay and pleasant.
But the old man he didn't take any hand hardly, and was
absent-minded and restless, and done a considerable amount
of sighing; and it was kind of heart-breaking to see him so
sad and troubled and worried.

By-and-by, a spell after supper, come a nigger and knocked
on the door and put his head in with his old straw liat in
his hand bowing and scraping, and said his Marse Brace
was out at the stile and wanted his brother, and was get
ting tired waiting supper for him, and would Marse Silas
please tell him where he was? I never see Uncle Silas
speak up so sharp and fractious before. He says :

"Am / his brother's keeper?" And then he kind of
wilted together, and looked like he wished he hadn't spoken
so, and then he says, very gentle : " But you needn't say
that, Billy; I was took sudden and irritable, and I ain't
very well these days, and not hardly responsible. Tell him
he ain't here."

And when the nigger was gone he got up and walked the
floor, backwards and forwards, mumbling and muttering to
himself and ploughing his hands through his hair. It was
real pitiful to see him. Aunt Sally she whispered to us

150

and told us not to take notice of him, it embarrassed him.
She said he was always thinking and thinking, since these
troubles come on, and she allowed he didn't more'n about
half know what he was about when the thinking spells was
on him; and she said he walked in his sleep considerable
more now than he used to, and sometimes wandered around
over the house and even outdoors in his sleep, and if we
catched him at it we must let him alone and not disturb
him. She said she reckoned it didn't do him no harm, and
may be it done him good. She said Benny was the only
one that was much help to him these days. Said Benny
appeared to know just when to try to soothe him and when
to leave him alone.

So he kept on tramping up and down the floor and mut
teririg, till by-and-by he begun to look pretty tired ; then
Benny she went and snuggled up to his side and put one
hand in his and one arm around his waist and walked with
him ; and he smiled down on her, and reached down and
kissed her ; and so, little by little the trouble went out of
his face and she persuaded him off to his room. They had
very petting ways together, and it was uncommon pretty
to see.

Aunt Sally she was busy getting the children ready for
bed; so by-and-by it got dull and tedious, and me and Tom
took a turn in the moonlight, and fetched up in the water
melon-patch and et one, and had a good deal of talk. And
Tom said he'd bet the quarrelling was all Jubiter's fault, and
he was going to be on hand the first time he got a chance,
and see ; and if it was so, he was going to do his level best
to get Uncle Silas to turn him off.

And so we talked and smoked and stuffed watermelon
as much as two hours, and then it was pretty late, and when
we got back the house was quiet and dark, and everybody
gone to be4-

" SMOKED AND STUFFED WATERMELON

Tom he always seen everything, and now he see that the
old green baize work-gown was gone, and said it
gone when he went out; and so we allowed it was curious,
and then we went up to bed.

We could hear Benny stirring around in her room, which
was next to ourn, and judged she was worried a good deal
about her father and couldn't sleep. We found we couldn't,
neither. So we set up a long time, and smoked and talked
in a low voice, and felt pretty dull and down-hearted. We
talked the murder and the ghost over and over again, and
got so creepy and crawly we couldn't get sleepy nohow and
noway.

By-and-by, when it was away late in the night and all the
sounds was late sounds and solemn, Tom nudged me and
whispers to me to look, and I done it, and there we see a
man poking around in the yard like he didn't know just
what he wanted to do, but it was pretty dim and we couldn't
see him good. Then he started for the stile, and as he
went over it the moon came out strong, and he had a long-
handled shovel over his shoulder, and we see the white
patch on the old work-gown. So Tom says:

" He's a-walking in his sleep. I wish we was allowed to
follow him and see where he's going to. There, he's turned
down by the tobacker- field. Out of sight now. It's a
dreadful pity he can't rest no better."

We waited a long time, but he didn't come back any
more, or if he did he come around the other way; so at
last we was tuckered out and went to sleep and had night
mares, a million of them. But before dawn we was awake
again, because meantime a storm had come up and been
raging, and the thunder and lightning was awful, and the*
wind was a-thrashing the trees around, and the rain was
driving down in slanting sheets, and the gullies was running
rivers. Tom says :

152

f " Looky here, Huck, I'll tell you one thing that's mighty
curious.^ Up to the time we went out, last night, the family
feictift heard about Jake Dunlap being murdered. Now
the men that chased Hal Clayton and Bud Dixon away
would spread the thing around in a half an hour, and every
neighbor that heard it would shin out and fly around from
one farm to t'other and try to be the first to tell the news.
Land, they don't have such a big thing as that to tell twice
in thirty year ! Huck, it's mighty strange ; I don't under
stand it."

' So then he was in a fidget for the rain to let up, so we
could turn out and run across some of the people and see
if they would say anything about it to us. And he said if
they did we must be horribly surprised and shocked.

We was out and gone the minute the rain stopped. It
was just broad day, then. We loafed along up the road,
and now and then met a person and stopped and said
howdy, and told them when we come, and how we left the
folks at home, and how long we was going to stay, and all
that, but none of them said a word about that thing ; which
was just astonishing, and no mistake. Tom said he be
lieved if we went to the sycamores we would find that body
laying there solitary and alone, and not a soul around.
Said he believed the men chased the thieves so far into the
wcods that the thieves prob'ly seen a good chance and
turned on them at last, and maybe they all killed each
other, and so there wasn't anybody left to tell.

First we knowed, gabbling along that away, we was right
at the sycamores. The cold chills trickled down my back
and I wouldn't budge another step, for all Tom's persuad
ing. But he couldn't hold in ; he'd got to see if the boots
was safe on that body yet. So he crope in — and the next
minute out he come again with his eyes bulging he was so
excited, and says *

153

" Huck, it's gone !"

I was astonished ! I says :

" Tom, you don't mean it."

" It's gone, sure. There ain't a sign of it. The ground
is trampled some, but if there was any blood it's all washed
away by the storm, for it's all puddles and slush in there."

At last I give in, and went and took a look myself ; and
it was just as Tom said — there wasn't a sign of a corpse.

" Bern it," I says, " the diamonds is gone. Don't you
reckon the thieves slunk back and lugged him off, Tom ?"

" Looks like it. It just does. Now where'd they hide
him, do you reckon ?"

"I don't know," I says, disgusted, "and what's more I
don't care. They've got the boots, and that's all / cared
about. He'll lay around these woods a long time before /
hunt him up."

Tom didn't feel no more intrust in him neither, only curi
osity to know what come of him ; but he said we'd lay low
and keep dark and it wouldn't be long till the dogs or some
body rousted him out.

We went back home to breakfast ever so bothered and
put out and disappointed and swindled. I warn't ever so
down on a corpse before.

CHAPTER VIII

IT warn't very cheerful at breakfast. Aunt Sally she
looked old and tired and let the children snarl and fuss at
one another and didn't seem to notice it was going on,
which wasn't her usual style ; me and Tom had a plenty to
think about without talking ; Benny she looked like she
hadn't had much sleep, and whenever she'd lift her head a
little and steal a look towards her father you could see
there was tears in her eyes ; and as for the old man, his
things stayed on his plate and got cold without him know
ing they was there, I reckon, for he was thinking and think
ing all the time, and never said a word and never et a bite.

By-and-by when it was stillest, that nigger's head was
poked in at the door again, and he said his Marse Brace
was getting powerful uneasy about Marse Jubiter, which
hadn't come home yet, and would Marse Silas please —

He was looking at Uncle Silas, and he stopped there,
like the rest of his words was froze : for Uncle Silas he rose
up shaky and steadied himself leaning his fingers on the
table, and he was panting, ?nd his eyes was set on the nig
ger, and he kept swallowing, and put his other hand up to
his throat a couple of times, and at last he got his words
started, and says ;

" Does he — does he — think — what does he think ! Tell
him — tell him — Then he sunk down in his chair limp
and weak, and says, so as you could hardly hear him : " Go
away — go away !"

The nigger looked scared, and cleared out, and we all

155

felt— rwell, I don't know how we felt, but it was awful, with
the old man panting there, and his eyes set and looking
like a person that was dying. None of us could budge;
but Benny she slid around soft, with her tears running
down, and stood by his side, and nestled his old gray head
up against her and begun to stroke it and pet it with her
hands,, and nodded to us to go away, and we done it, going
out very quiet, like the dead was there, ,^^^

Me and Tom struck out for the woods mighty solemn,
and saying how different it was now to what it was last
summer; when, we was here and everything was so peaceful
and happy and everybody thought so much of Uncle Silas,
and he '.was so cheerful and simple-hearted and pudd'n-
headed and good — and now look at him. If he hadn't lost
his mind he wasn't much short of it. That was what we
allowed.

It was a most lovely day, now, and bright and sunshiny;
and the further and further we went over the hill towards
the prairie the lovelier and lovelier the trees and flowers
got to be and the more it seemed strange and somehow
wrong that there had to be trouble in" such a world as this.
And then all of a stKfcferf T "catch ed my breath and grabbed
Tom's arm, and all my livers and lungs and things fell
down into my legs.

"There it is !" I says. We jumped back behind a bush,
shivering, and Tom says:

"'Sh !— don't make a neise."

It was setting on a log right in the edge of the little
prairie, thinking. I tried to get Tom to come away, but
he wouldn't, and I dasn't budge by myself. He said we
mightn't ever get another chance to see one, and he was
going to look his fill at this one if he died for it. So I
looked too, though it give me the fan-tods to do it. Tom
he had to talk, but he talked low. He says :

156

" Poor Jakey, it's got all its things on, just as he saJid he
would. Now you see what we wasn't certain about — its
hair. It's not long, now, the way it was ; it's got it crrjpped
close to its head, the way he said he would. Huck, I never
see anything look any more naturaler than what It does."

" Nor I neither," I says ; " I'd recognize it anywheres."

"So would I. It looks perfectly solid and germwyne,
just the way it done before it died."

So we kept a-gazing. Pretty soon Tom says :

" Huck, there's something mighty curious about this one,
don't you know? // oughtn't to be going around in the
daytime."

" That's so, Tom — I never heard the like of i* before."

" No, sir, they don't ever come out only at night — and
then not till after twelve. There's something wrong about
this one, now you mark my words. I don't believe it's got
any right to be around in the daytime. But don't it look
natural ! Jake was going to play deef and dumb here, so
the neighbors wouldn't know his voice. Do you reckon it
would do that if we was to holler at it ?"

" Lordy, Tom, don't talk so ! If you was to holler at it
I'd die in my tracks."

" Don't you worry, I ain't going to holler at it. Look,
Huck, it's a-scratching its head — djn't you see ?"

"Well, what of it?"

" Why, this. What's the sense of it scratching its head ?
There ain't anything there to itch ; its head is made out of
fog or something like that, ai'd can't itch. A fog can't itch ;
any fool knows that."

"Well, then, if it don't itch and can't itch, what in the
nation is it scratching it for? Ain't it just habit, don't you
reckon ?"

"No, sir, I don't. I ain't a bit satisfied about the way
this one acts, I've a blame good notion it's a bogus one—

157

I have, as sure as I'm a- sitting here. Because, if it—
Huck !"

" Well, what's the matter now ?"

" You cant see the bushes through it T

" Why, Tom, it's so, sure ! It's as solid as a cow. I sort
of begin to think — "

" Huck, it's biting off a chaw of tobacker ! By George,
they don't chaw — they hain't got anything to chaw with.
Huck !"

" I'm a-listening."

" It ain't a ghost at all. It's Jake Dunlap his own self !"

" Oh, your granny !" I says.

" Huck Finn, did we find any corpse in the syca
mores ?"

" No."

" Or any sign of one ?"

" No."

" Mighty good reason. Hadn't ever been any corpse
there."

" Why, Tom, you know we heard — "

"Yes, we did — heard a howl or two. Does that prove
anybody was killed ? Course ij don't. And we seen four
men run, then this one come walking out and we took it for
a ghost. No more ghost than you are. It was Jake Dun-
lap his own self, and it's Jake Dunlap now. He's been and
got his hair cropped, the way he said he would, and he's
playing himself for a stranger, just the same as he said he
would. Ghost ? Hum ! — he's as sound as a nut."

Then I see it all, and how we had took too much for
granted. I was powerful glad he didn't get killed, and so
was Tom, and we wondered which he would like the best —
for us to never let on to know him, or how ? Tom reckoned
the best way would be to go and ask him. So he started ;
but I kept a little behind, because I didn't know but it

158

might be a ghost, after all. When Tom got to where he
was, he says :

" Me and Huck's mighty glad to see you again, and you
needn't be afeard we'll tell. And if you think it '11 be safer
for you if we don't let on to know you when we run across
you, say the word and you'll see you can depend on us, and
would ruther cut our hands off than get you into the least
little bit of danger."

First off he looked surprised to see us, and not very glad,
either ; but as Tom went on he looked pleasanter, and when
he was done he smiled, and nodded his head several times,
and made signs with his hands, and says :

" Goo-goo — goo-goo," the way deef and dummies does.

Just then we see some of Steve Nickerson's people com
ing that lived t'other side of the prairie, so Tom says :

" You do it elegant ; I never see anybody do it better.
You're right ; play it on us, too ; play it on us same as the
others j it '11 keep you in practice and prevent you making
blunders. We'll keep away from you and let on we don't
know you, but any time we can be any help, you just let us
know."

Then we loafed along past the Nickersons, and of course
they asked if that was the new stranger yonder, and where'd
he come from, and what was his name, and which com
munion was he, Babtis' or Methodis', and which politics,
Whig or Democrat, and how long is he staying, and all
them other questions that humans always asks when a
stranger comes, and animals does too. But Tom said he
warn't able to make anything out of deef and dumb signs,
and the same with goo-gooing. Then we watched them go
and bullyrag Jake ; because we was pretty uneasy for him.
Tom said it would take him days to get so he wouldn't for
get he was a deef and dummy sometimes, and speak out
before he thought. When we had watched long enough to

GOO-GOO — GOO-GOO ' "

159

see that Jake was getting along all right and working his
signs very good, we loafed along again, allowing to strike
the school-house about recess time, which was a three-mile
tramp.

I was so disappointed not to hear Jake tell about the row
in the sycamores, and how near he come to getting killed,
that I couldn't seem to get over it, and Tom he felt the
same, but said if we was in Jake's fix we would want to go
careful and keep still and not take any chances.

The boys and girls was all glad to see us again, and we
had a real good time all through recess. Coming to school
the Henderson boys had come across the new deef and
dummy and told the rest ; so all the scholars was chuck
full of him and couldn't talk about anything else, and was
in a sweat to get a sight of him because they hadn't ever
seen a deef and dummy in their lives, and it made a power
ful excitement.

Tom said it was tough to have to keep mum now ; said
we would be heroes if we could come out and tell all we
knowed ; but after all, it was still more heroic to keep mum,
there warn't two boys in a million could do it. That was""7
Tom Sawyer's idea about it, and I reckoned there warn't
anybody could better it.

UTS

CHAPTER IX

IN the next two or three days Dummy he got to be
powerful popular. He went associating around with the
neighbors, and they made much of him, and was proud to
have such a rattling curiosity amongst them. They had
him to breakfast, they had him to dinner, they had him to
supper; they kept him loaded up with hog and hominy,
and warn't ever tired staring at him and wondering over
him, and wishing they knowed more about him, he was so
uncommon and romantic. His signs warn't no good;
people couldn't understand them and he prob'ly couldn't
himself, but he done a sight of goo-gooing, and so every
body was satisfied, and admired to hear him go it. He
toted a piece of slate around, and a pencil ; and people
wrote questions on it and he wrote answers ; but there
warn't anybody could read his writing but Brace Dunlap.
Brace said he couldn't read it very good, but he could man
age to dig out the meaning most of the time. He said
Dummy said he belonged away off somers and used to be
well off, but got busted by swindlers which he had trusted,
and was poor now, and hadn't any way to make a living.

Everybody praised Brace Dunlap for being so good to
that stranger. He let him have a little log-cabin all to
himself, and had his niggers take care of it, and fetch him
all the vittles he wanted.

Dummy was at our house some, because old Uncle Silas
was so afflicted himself, these days, that anybody else that
was afflicted was a comfort to him. Me and Tom didn't let

on that we had knowed him before, and he didn't let on
that he had knowed us before. The family talked their
troubles out before him the same as if he wasn't there, but
we reckoned it wasn't any harm for him to hear what they
said. Generly he didn't seem to notice, but sometimes he
did.

Well, two or three days went along, and everybody got to
getting uneasy about Jubiter Dunlap. Everybody was ask-
ing everybody if they had any idea what had become of
him. No, they hadn't, they said ; and they shook their
heads and said there was something powerful strange
about it. Another and another day went by ; then there
was a report got around that praps he was murdered. You
bet it made a big stir ! Everybody's tongue was clacking
away after that. Saturday two or three gangs turned out
and hunted the woods to see if they could run across his
remainders. Me and Tom helped, and it was noble good
times and exciting. Tom he was so brim full of it he
couldn't eat nor rest. He said if we could find that corpse
we would be celebrated, and more talked about than if we
got drownded.

The others got tired and give it up ; but not Tom Sawyer
— that warn't his style. Saturday night he didn't sleep
any, hardly, trying to think up a plan ; and towards daylight
in the morning he struck it. He snaked me out of bed and
was all excited, and says —

"Quick, Huck, snatch on your clothes — I've got it!
Blood-hound !"

In two minutes we was tearing up the river road in the
dark towards the village. Old Jeff Hooker had a blood
hound, and Tom was going to borrow him. I says —

" The trail's too old, Tom — and, besides, it's rained, you
know."

" It don't make any difference, Huck. If the body's hid

162

in the woods anywhere around the hound will find it If
he's been murdered and buried, they wouldn't bury*Aim
deep, it ain't likely, and if the dog goes over the spot he'll
scent him, sure. Huck, we're going to be celebrated; sure
as you're born !"

He was just a-blazing ; and whenever he got afire he was

most likely to get afire all over. That was the way this

time. In two minutes he had got it all ciphered out, and

wasn't only just going to find the corpse — no, he was going

to get on the track of that murderer and hunt him down,

too ; and not only that, but he was going to stick to him till —

f "Well," I says, "you better find the corpse first; I

i reckon that's a-plenty for to-day. For all we know, there

ain't any corpse and nobody hain't been murdered. That

Cuss could 'a' gone off somers and not been killed at all."

That gravelled him, and he says —

" Huck Finn, I never see such a person as you to want
to spoil everything. As long as you can't see anything hope
ful in a thing, you won't let anybody else. What good can
it do you to throw cold water on that corpse and get up that
selfish theory that there ain't been any murder ? None in
the world. I don't see how you can act so. I wouldn't
treat you like that, and you know it. Here we've got a
noble good opportunity to make a ruputation, and — "

" Oh, go ahead," I says ; " I'm sorry, and I take it all back.
I didn't mean nothing. Fix it any way you want it. He
ain't any consequence to me. If he's killed, I'm as glad of
it as you are ; and if he—

" I never said anything about being glad ; I only — "

" Well, then, I'm as sorry as you are. Any way you druth-
er have it, that is the way /druther have it. He — "

" There ain't any druthers about it, Huck Finn ; nobody
said anything about druthers. And as for — "

He forgot he was talking, and went tramping along, study-

ing. <^ He begun to get excited again, and pretty soon he
says —

"Huck, it '11 be the bulliest thing that ever happened if
we find the body after everybody else has quit looking, and
then go ahead and hunt up the murderer. It won't only be
an honor to us, but it '11 be an honor to Uncle Silas because
it was us that done it. It '11 set him up again, you see if it
don't."

But old Jeff Hooker he throwed cold water on the whole
business when we got to his blacksmith-shop and told him
what we come for.

"You can take the dog," he says, "but you ain't a-going
to find any corpse, because there ain't any corpse to find.
Everybody's quit looking, and they're right. Soon as they
come to think, they knowed there warn't no corpse. And
I'll tell you for why. What does a person kill another per-
sonyfrr, Tom Sawyer ? — answer me that."

"Why, he— er— "

" Answer up ! You ain't no fool. What does he kill him
fort*

" Well, sometimes it's for revenge, and — "

"Wait. One thing at a time. Revenge, says you; and
right you are. Now who ever had anything agin that poor
trifling no -account? Who do you reckon would want to
kill him ?— that rabbit!"

Tom was stuck. I reckon he hadn't thought of a person
having to have a reason for killing a person before, and now
he sees it warn't likely anybody would have that much of a
grudge against a lamb like Jubiter Dunlap. The blacksmith
says, by-and-by —

"The revenge idea won't work, you see. Well, then,
what's next ? Robbery ? B'gosh, that must 'a' been it, Tom !
Yes, sirree, I reckon we've struck it this time. Some feller
wanted his gallus-buckles, and so he — "

But it was so funny he busted out laughing, and just went
on laughing and laughing and laughing till he was 'most dead,
and Tom looked so put out and cheap that I knowed he was
ashamed he had come, and he wished he hadn't. But old
Hooker never let up on him. He raked up everything a
person ever could want to kill another person about, and
any fool could see they didn't any of them fit this case, and
he just made no end of fun of the whole business and of
the people that had been hunting the body; and he said —

" If they'd had any sense they'd 'a' knowed the lazy cuss
slid out because he wanted a loafing spell after all this work.
He'll come pottering back in a couple of weeks, and then
how '11 you fellers feel ? But, laws bless you, take the dog,
and go and hunt his remainders. Do, Tom."

Then he busted out, and had another of them forty-rod
laughs of hisn. Tom couldn't back down after all this, so
he said, "All right, unchain him;" and the blacksmith done
it, and we started home and left that old man laughing yet.

It was a lovely dog. There ain't any dog that's got a
lovelier disposition than a blood-hound, and this one knowed
us and liked us. He capered and raced around ever so
friendly, and powerful glad to be free and have a holiday ;
but Tom was so cut up he couldn't take any intrust in him,
and said he wished he'd stopped and thought a minute be
fore he ever started on such a fool errand. He said old
Jeff Hooker would tell everybody, and we'd never hear the
last of it.

So we loafed along home down the back lanes, feeling
pretty glum and not talking. When we was passing the far
corner of our tobacker-field we heard the dog set up a long
howl in there, and we went to the place and he was scratch
ing the ground with all his might, and every now and then
canting up his head sideways and fetching another howl.

It was a long square, the shape of a grave ; the rain had

FKTCHING ANOTHER HOWL"

made it sink down and show the shape. The minute we
come and stood there we looked at one another and never
said a word. When the dog had dug down only a few
inches he grabbed something and pulled it up, and it was
an arm and a sleeve. Tom kind of gasped out, and says —

" Come away, Huck — it's found."

I just felt awful. We struck for the road and fetched
the first men that come along. They got a spade at the
crib and dug out the body, and you never see such an ex
citement. You couldn't make anything out of the face,
but you didn't need to. Everybody said —

" Poor Jubiter ; it's his clothes, to the last rag !"

Some rushed off to spread the news and tell the justice
of the peace and have an inquest, and me and Tom lit out
for the house. Tom was all afire and 'most out of breath
when we come tearing in where Uncle Silas and Aunt Sally
and Benny was. Tom sung out —

" Me and Huck's found Jubiter Dunlap's corpse all by
ourselves with a blood-hound, after everybody else had quit
hunting and given it up ; and if it hadn't a been for us it
never would 'a' been found ; and he was murdered too—
they done it with a club or something like that ; and I'm
going to start in and find the murderer, next, and I bet I'll
do it !"

Aunt Sally and Benny sprung up pale and astonished,
but Uncle Silas fell right forward out of his chair onto the
floor and groans out —

** Oh, my God, you've found him now /"

CHAPTER X

THEM awful words froze us solid. We couldn't move
hand or foot for as much as half a minute. Then we kind
of come to, and lifted the old man up and got him into his
chair, and Benny petted him and kissed him and tried to
comfort him, and poor old Aunt Sally she done the same ;
but, poor things, they was so broke up and scared and
knocked out of their right minds that they didn't hardly
know what they was about. With Tom it was awful ; it
'most petrified him to think maybe he had got his uncle
into a thousand times more trouble than ever, and maybe
it wouldn't ever happened if he hadn't been so ambitious
to get celebrated, and let the corpse alone the way the
others done. But pretty soon he sort of come to himself
again and says —

" Uncle Silas, don't you say another word like that. It's
dangerous, and there ain't a shadder of truth in it."

Aunt Sally and Benny was thankful to hear him say that,
and they said the same ; but the old man he wagged his
head sorrowful and hopeless, and the tears run down his
face, and he says —

" No — I done it ; poor Jubiter, I done it !"

It was dreadful to hear him say it. Then he went on
and told about it, and said it happened the day me and
Tom come — along about sundown. He said Jubiter pes
tered him and aggravated him till he was so mad he just
sort of lost his mind and grabbed up a stick and hit him
pver the head with all his might, and Jubiter dropped in

167

his tracks. Then he was scared and sorry, and got down
on his knees and lifted his head up, and begged him to
speak and say he wasn't dead ; and before long he come to,
and when he see who it was holding his head, he jumped
like he was 'most scared to death, and cleared the fence
and tore into the woods, and was gone. So he hoped he
wasn't hurt bad.

" But laws," he says, "it was only just fear that gave him
that last little spurt of strength, and of course it soon
played out and he laid down in the bush, and there wasn't
anybody to help him, and he died."

Then the old man cried and grieved, and said he was a
murderer and the mark of Cain was on him, and he had
disgraced his family and was going to be found out and
hung. But Tom said —

" No, you ain't going to be found out. You didn't kill
him. One lick wouldn't kill him. Somebody else done it."

" Oh yes," he says, " I done it — nobody else. Who else
had anything against him ? Who else could have anything
against him ?"

He looked up kind of like he hoped some of us could
mention somebody that could have a grudge against that
harmless no-account, but of course it warn't no use — he had
us ; we couldn't say a word. He noticed that, and he sad
dened down again, and I never see a face so miserable and
so pitiful to see. Tom had a sudden idea, and says —

" But hold on ! — somebody buried him. Now who — "

He shut off sudden. I knowed the reason. It give me
the cold shudders when he said them words, because right
away I remembered about us seeing Uncle Silas prowling
around with a long-handled shovel away in the night that
night. And I knowed Benny seen him, too, because she
was talking about it one day. The minute Tom shut off
he changed the subject and went to begging Uncle Silas to

i68

keep mum, and the rest of us done the same, and said he must,
and said it wasn't his business to tell on himself, and if he
kept mum nobody would ever know; but if it was found out
and any harm come to him it would break the family's
hearts and kill them, and yet never do anybody any good.
So at last he promised. We was all of us more comfortable,
then, and went to work to cheer up the old man. We told
him all he'd got to do was to keep still, and it wouldn't be
long till the whole thing would blow over and be forgot.
We all said there wouldn't anybody ever suspect Uncle
Silas, nor ever dream of such a thing, he being so good
and kind, and having such a good character ; and Tom
says, cordial and hearty, he says —

" Why, just look at it a minute ; just consider. Here is
Uncle Silas, all these years a preacher — at his own ex
pense , all these years doing good with all his might and
every way he can think of — at his own expense, all the
time ; always been loved by everybody, and respected ; al
ways been peaceable and minding his own business, the very
last man in this whole deestrict to touch a person, and
everybody knows it. Suspect him ? Why, it ain't any more
possible than —

"By authority of the State of Arkansaw, I arrest you
for the murder of Jubiter Dunlap !" shouts the sheriff at
the door.

It was awful. Aunt Sally and Benny flung themselves
at Uncle Silas, screaming and crying, and hugged him and
hung to him, and Aunt Sally said go away, she wouldn't
ever give him up, they shouldn't have him, and the niggers
they come crowding and crying to the door and — well, I
couldn't stand it ; it was enough to break a person's heart;
so I got out.

They took him up to the little one-horse jail in the vil
lage, and we all went along to tell him good-by ; and Tom

was feeling elegant, and says to me, " We'll have a most
noble good time and heaps of danger some dark night
getting him out of there, Huck, and it '11 be talked about
everywheres and we will be celebrated ;" but the old man
busted that scheme up the minute he whispered to him
about it. He said no, it was his duty to stand whatever
the law done to him, and he would stick to the jail plumb
through to the end, even if there warn't no door to it. It
disappointed Tom and gravelled him a good deal, but he
had to put up with it.

But he felt responsible and bound to get his uncle Silas
free ; and he told Aunt Sally, the last thing, not to worry,
because he was going to turn in and work night and day
and beat this game and fetch Uncle Silas out innocent;
and she was very loving to him and thanked him and said
she knowed he would do his very best. And she told us
to help Benny take care of the house and the children, and
then we had a good-by cry all around and went back to the
farm, and left her there to live with the jailer's wife a
month till the trial in October.

CHAPTER XI

WELL, that was a hard month on us all. Poor Benny,
she kept up the best she could, and me and Tom tried to
keep things cheerful there at the house, but it kind of went
for nothing, as you may say. It was the same up at the
jail. We went up every day to see the old people, but it
was awful dreary, because the old man warn't sleeping
much, and was walking in his sleep considerable, and so
he got to looking fagged and miserable, and his mind got
shaky, and we all got afraid his troubles would break him
down and kill him. And whenever we tried to persuade
him to feel cheerfuler, he only shook his head and said if
we only knowed what it was to carry around a murderer's
load on your heart we wouldn't talk that way. Tom and
all of us kept telling him it wasn't murder, but just ac
cidental killing, but it never made any difference — it was
murder, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He
actu'ly begun to come out plain and square towards trial-
time and acknowledge that he tried to kill the man. Why,
that was awful, you know. It made things seem fifty times
as dreadful, and there warn't no more comfort for Aunt
Sally and Benny. But he promised he wouldn't say a word
about his murder when others was around, and we was glad
of that.

Tom Sawyer racked the head off of himself all that
month trying to plan some way out for Uncle Silas, and
many's the night he kept me up 'most all night with this
kind of tiresome work, but he couldn't seem to get on the

KEPT ME UP MOST ALL NIGHT

right track no way. As for me, I reckoned a body might
as well give it up, it all looked so blue and I was so down
hearted ; but he wouldn't. He stuck to the business right
along, and went on planning and thinking and ransacking
his head.

So at last the trial come on, towards the middle of Octo- |
ber, and we was all in the court.

of^Qour_se, Poor old Uncle Silas, he looked more like a
dead person than a live one, his eyes was so hollow and he
looked so thin and so mournful. Benny she set on one
side of him and Aunt Sally on the other, and they had veils
on, and was full of trouble. But Tom he set by our lawyer,
and had his finger in everywheres, of course. The lawyer
let him, and the judge let him. He 'most took the business
out of the lawyer's hands sometimes ; which was well
enough, because that was only a mud-turtle of a back-settle
ment lawyer and didn't know enough to come in when it
rains, as the saying is.

They swore in the jury, and then the lawyer for the pros
titution got up and begun. He made a terrible speech
against the old man, that made him moan and groan, and
made Benny and Aunt Sally cry. The way he told about
the murder kind of knocked us all stupid it was so differ
ent from the old man's tale. He said he was going to
prove that Uncle Silas was seen to kill Jubiter Dunlap by
two good witnesses, and done it deliberate, and said he was
going to kill him the very minute he hit him with the club ;
and they seen him hide Jubiter in the bushes, and they
seen that Jubiter was stone-dead. And said Uncle Silas
come later and lugged Jubiter down into the tobacker-field,
and two men seen him do it. And said Uncle Silas turned
out, away in the night, and buried Jubiter, and a man seen
him at it.

I says to myself, poor old Uncle Silas has been lying

172

about it because he reckoned nobody seen him and he
couldn't bear to break Aunt Sally's heart and Benny's ;
and right he was : as for me, I would 'a' lied the same way,
and so would anybody that had any feeling, to save them
such misery and sorrow which they warn't no ways respon
sible for. Well, it made our lawyer look pretty sick; and
it knocked Tom silly, too, for a little spell, but then he
braced up and let on that he warn't worried — but I knowed
he was, all the same. And the people — my, but it made a
stir amongst them !

And when that lawyer was done telling the jury what he
was going to prove, he set down and begun to work his
witnesses.

First, he called a lot of them to show that there was bad
blood betwixt Uncle Silas and the diseased ; and they told
how they had heard Uncle Silas threaten the diseased, at
one time and another, and how it got worse and worse and
everybody was talking about it, and how diseased got
afraid of his life, and told two or three of them he was cer
tain Uncle Silas would up and kill him some time or an
other.

Tom and our lawyer asked them some questions ; but it
warn't no use, they stuck to what they said.

Next, they called up Lem Beebe, and he took the stand.
It come into my mind, then, how Lem and Jim Lane had
come along talking, that time, about borrowing a dog or
something from Jubiter Dunlap , and that brought up the
blackberries and the lantern ; and that brought up Bill and
Jack Withers, and how they passed by, talking about a nig
ger stealing Uncle Silas's corn ; and that fetched up our
old ghost that come along about the same time and scared
us so — and here he was too, and a privileged character, on
accounts of his being deef and dumb and a stranger, and
they had fixed him a chair inside the railing, where he

OUR LAWYER

could cross his legs and be comfortable, whilst the other
people was all in a jam so they couldn't hardly breathe.
So it all come back to me just the way it was that day ;
and it made me mournful to think how pleasant it was up
to then, and how miserable ever since.

LemBeebe, sworn, said : "I was a-coming along, that day, second of
September, and Jim Lane was with me, and it was towards sundown,
and we heard loud talk, like quarrelling, and we was very close, only
the hazel bushes between (that's along the fence) ; and we heard a voice
say, ' I've told you more'n once I'd kill you,' and knowed it was this
prisoner's voice ; and then we see a club come up above the bushes and
down out of sight again, and heard a smashing thump and then a groan
or two ; and then we crope soft to where we could see, and there laid
Jubiter Dunlap dead, and this prisoner standing over him with the
club ; and the next he hauled the dead man into a clump of bushes and
hid him, and then we stooped low, to be out of sight, and got away."

Well, it was awful. It kind of froze everybody's blood
to hear it, and the house was 'most as still whilst he was
telling it as if there warn't nobody in it. And when he
was done, you could hear them gasp and sigh, all over
the house, and look at one another the same as to says
"Ain't it perfectly terrible— ain't it awful !"

Now happened a thing that astonished me. All the
time the first witnesses was proving the bad blood and the
threats and all that, Tom Sawyer was alive and laying for
them ; and the minute they was through, he went for them,
and done his level best to catch them in lies and spile
their testimony. But now, how different. When Lem first
begun to talk, and never said anything about speaking to
Jubiter or trying to borrow a dog off of him, he was all alive
and laying for Lem, and you could see he was getting
ready to cross-question him to death pretty soon, and then
I judged him and me would go on the stand by-and-by and
tell what we heard him and Jim Lane say. But the next

174

time I looked at Tom I got the cold shivers. Why, he
was in the brownest study you ever see — miles and miles
away. He warn't hearing a word Lem Beebe was saying;
and when he got through he was still in that brown-study,
just the same. Our lawyer joggled him, and then he looked
up startled, and says, " Take the witness if you want him.
Lemme alone — I want to think."

Well, that beat me. I couldn't understand it. And
Benny and her mother — oh, they looked sick, they was so
troubled. They shoved their veils to one side and tried to
get his eye, but it warn't any use, and I couldn't get his eye
either. So the mud -turtle he tackled the witness, but it
didn't amount to nothing; and he made a mess of it.

Then they called up Jim Lane, and he told the very same
story over again, exact. Tom never listened to this one at
all, but set there thinking and thinking, miles and miles
away. So the mud -turtle went in alone again and come
out just as flat as he done before. The lawyer for the
prostitution looked very comfortable, but the judge looked
disgusted. You see, Tom was just the same as a regular
lawyer, nearly, because it was Arkansaw law for a prisoner
to choose anybody he wanted to help his lawyer, and Tom
had had Uncle Silas shove him into the case, and now he
was botching it and you could see the judge didn't like it
much.

All that the mud-turtle got out of Lem and Jim was this:
he asked them —

"Why didn't you go and tell what you saw?"

"We was afraid we would get mixed up in it ourselves.
And we was just starting down the river a-hunting for all
the week besides ; but as soon as we come back we found
out they'd been searching for the body, so then we went
and told Brace Dunlap all about it."

"When was that?"

175

" Saturday night, September gth."

The judge he spoke up and says —

" Mr. Sheriff, arrest these two witnesses on suspicions of
being accessionary after the fact to the murder."

The lawyer for the prostitution jumps up all excited, and
says —

" Your honor ! I protest against this extraordi — "

" Set down !" says the judge, pulling his bowie and lay
ing it on his pulpit. " I beg you to respect the Court."

So he done it. Then he called Bill Withers.

Bill Withers, sworn, said: "I was coming along about sundown,
Saturday, September 2d, by the prisoner's field, and my brother Jack
was with me, and we seen a man toting off something heavy on his
back and allowed it was a nigger stealing corn ; we couldn't see dis
tinct ; next we made out that it was one man carrying another ; and
the way it hung, so kind of limp, we judged it was somebody that was
drunk ; and by the man's walk we said it was Parson Silas, and we
judged he had found Sam Cooper drunk in the road, which he was
always trying to reform him, and was toting him out of danger."

It made the people shiver to think of poor old Uncle
Silas toting off the diseased down to the place in his to-
backer-field where the dog dug up the body, but there
warn't much sympathy around amongst the faces, and I
heard one cuss say, " 'Tis the coldest-blooded work I ever
struck, lugging a murdered man around like that, and going
to bury him like a animal, and him a preacher at that."

Tom he went on thinking, and never took no notice ; so
our lawyer took the witness and done the best he could,
and it was plenty poor enough.

Then Jack Withers he come on the stand and told the
same tale, just like Bill done.

And after him comes Brace Dunlap, and he was looking
very mournful, and most crying; and there was a rustle

I3TS

and a stir all around, and everybody got ready to listen,
and lots of the women folks saicl, " Poor cretur, poor cretur,"
and you could see a many of them wiping their eyes.

Brace Dunlap, sworn, said : "I was in considerable trouble a long
time about my poor brother, but I reckoned things warn't near so bad
as he made out, and I couldn't make myself believe anybody would have
the heart to hurt a poor harmless cretur like that" — [by jings, I was
sure I seen Tom give a kind of a faint little start, and then look disap
pointed again] — " and you know I couldn't think a preacher would hurt
him — it warn't natural to think such an onlikely thing — so I never paid
much attention, and now I sha'n't ever, ever forgive myself ; for if I
had a done different, my poor brother would be with me this day, and
not laying yonder murdered, and him so harmless." He kind of broke
down there and choked up, and waited to get his voice ; and people all
around said the most pitiful things, and women cried ; and it was very
still in there, and solemn, and old Uncle Silas, poor thing, he give a
groan right out so everybody heard him. Then Brace he went on,
"Saturday, September 2d, he didn't come home to supper. By-and-by
I got a little uneasy, and one of my niggers went over to this prisoner's
place, but come back and said he warn't there. So I got uneasier and
uneasier, and couldn't rest. I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep ; and
turned out, away late in the night, and went wandering over to this
prisoner's place and all around about there a good while, hoping I
would run across my poor brother, and never knowing he was out of his
troubles and gone to a better shore — " So he broke down and choked
up again, and most all the women was crying now. Pretty soon he got
another start and says : " But it warn't no use ; so at last I went home
and tried to get some sleep, but couldn't. Well, in a day or two every
body was uneasy, and they got to talking about this prisoner's threats,
and took to the idea, which I didn't take no stock in, that my brother
was murdered ; so they hunted around and tried to find his body, but
couldn't and give it up. And so I reckoned he was gone off somers to
have a little peace, and would come back to us when his troubles was
kind of healed. But late Saturday night, the gth, Lem Beebe and Jim
Lane come to my house and told me all — told me the whole awful 'sassi-
nation, and my heart was broke. And then I remembered something
that hadn't took no hold of me at the time, because reports said this
took to walking in his sleep and doing all kind of things of

•* SET DOWN'' SAYS THE JUDGE'

177

no consequence, not knowing what he was about. I will tell you what
that thing was that come back into my memory. Away late that awful
Saturday night when I was wandering around about this prisoner's
place, grieving and troubled, I was down by the corner of the tobacker-
field and I heard a sound like digging in a gritty soil ; and I crope
nearer and peeped through the vines that hung on the rail fence and
seen this prisoner shovelling — shovelling with a long-handled shovel —
heaving earth into a big hole that was most filled up ; his back was to
me, but it was bright moonlight and I knowed him by his old green
baize work-gown with a splattery white patch in the middle of the back
like somebody had hit him with a snowball. He was burying the man
he'd murdered /"

And he slumped down in his chair crying and sobbing,
and 'most everybody in the house busted out wailing, and
crying, and saying, " Oh, it's awful — awful — horrible !" and
there was a most tremenduous excitement, and you couldn't
hear yourself think ; and right in the midst of it up jumps
old Uncle Silas, white as a sheet, and sings out —

" It's true, every word — I murdered him in cold blood 7"

By Jackson, it petrified them ! People rose up wild all
over the house, straining and staring for a better look at
him, and the judge was hammering with his mallet and the
sheriff yelling " Order — order in the court — order !"

And all the while the old man stood there a-quaking and
his eyes a-burning, and not looking at his wife and daugh
ter, which was clinging to him and begging him to keep
still, but pawing them off with his hands and saying he
would clear his black soul from crime, he would heave off
this load that was more than he could bear, and he wouldn't
bear it another hour ! And then he raged right along with
his awful tale, everybody a-staring and gasping, judge, jury,
lawyers, and everybody, and Benny and Aunt Sally crying
their hearts out. And by George, Tom Sawyer never looked
at him once ! Never once — just set there gazing with all
his eyes at something else, I couldn't tell what. And so

the old man raged right along, pouring his words out like a
stream of fire :

" I killed him ! I am guilty ! But I never had the no
tion in my life to hurt him or harm him, spite of all them lies
about my threatening him, till the very minute I raised the
club — then my heart went cold ! — then the pity all went out
of it, and I struck to kill ! In that one moment all my
wrongs come into my mind ; all the insults that that man
and the scoundrel his brother, there, had put upon me, and
how they laid in together to ruin me with the people, and
take away my good name, and drive me to some deed that
would destroy me and my family that hadn't ever done them
no harm, so help me God ! And they done it in a mean re
venge — for why? Because my innocent pure girl here at
my side wouldn't marry that rich, insolent, ignorant coward,
Brace Dunlap, who's been snivelling here over a brother he
never cared a brass farthing for " — [I see Tom give a jump
and look glad this time, to a dead certainty] — " and in that
moment I've told you about, I forgot my God and remem
bered only my heart's bitterness, God forgive me, and I
struck to kill. In one second I was miserably sorry — oh,
filled with remorse ; but I thought of my poor family, and I
must hide what I'd done for their sakes ; and I did hide
that corpse in the bushes ; and presently I carried it to the
tobacker-field ; and in the deep night I went with my shovel
and buried it where — "

Up jumps Tom and shouts —

'''Now, I've got it !" and waves his hand, oh, ever so fine
and starchy, towards the old man, and says —

" Set down ! A murder was done, but you never had no
hand in it !"

Well, sir, you could a heard a pin drop. And the old man
he sunk down kind of bewildered in his seat and Aunt Sally
and Benny didn't know it, because they was so astonished

"'A MURDER WAS DONE'"

179

and staring at Tom with their mouths open and not know
ing what they was about. And the whole house the same.
/ never seen people look so helpless and tangled up, and I
hain't ever seen eyes bug out and gaze without a blink the
way theirn did. Tom says, perfectly ca'm —

" Your honor, may I speak ?"

" For God's sake, yes — go on !" says the judge, so aston
ished and mixed up he didn't know what he was about
hardly.

Then Tom he stood there and waited a second or
that was for to work up an "effect," as he calls it — then ho]
started in just as ca'm as ever, and says :

" For about two weeks, now, there's been a little bill stick
ing on the front of this court-house offering two thousand
dollars reward for a couple of big di'monds — stole at St.
Louis. Them di'monds is worth twelve thousand dollars.
But never mind about that till I get to it. Now about this
murder. I will tell you all about it — how it happened — who
done it — every afctail."

You could see everybody nestle, now, and begin to listen \/
for all they was worth.

"This man here, Brace Dunlap, that's been snivelling so
about his dead brother that you know he never cared a straw
for, wanted to marry that young girl there, and she wouldn't
have him. So he told Uncle Silas he would make him sor
ry. Uncle Silas knowed how powerful he was, and how lit
tle chance he had against such a man, and he was scared
and worried, and done everything he could think of to smooth
him over and get him to be good to him : he even took his
no-account brother Jubiter on the farm and give him wages
and stinted his own family to pay them ; and Jubiter done
everything his brother could contrive to insult Uncle Silas,
and fret and worry him, and try to drive Uncle Silas into
doing him a hurt, so as to injure Uncle Silas with the people.

i8o

And it done it. Everybody turned against him and said
the meanest kind of things about him, and it graduly broke
his heart — yes, and he was so worried and distressed that
often he warn't hardly in his right mind.

" Well, on that Saturday that we've had so much trouble
about, two of these witnesses here, Lem Beebe and Jim Lane,
come along by where Uncle Silas and Jubiter Dunlap was at
work — and that much of what they've said is true, the rest is
lies. They didn't hear Uncle Silas say he would kill Jubiter ;
they didn't hear no blow struck ; they didn't see no dead
man, and they didn't see Uncle Silas hide anything in the
bushes. Look at them now — how they set there, wishing
they hadn't been so handy with their tongues ; anyway,
they'll wish it before I get done.

" That same Saturday evening Bill and Jack Withers did
see one man lugging off another one. That much of what
they said is true, and the rest is lies. Fiist off they thought
it was a nigger stealing Uncle Silas's corn — you notice it
makes them look silly, now, to find out somebody overheard
them say that. That's because they found out by-and-by
who it was that was doing the lugging, and they know best
why they swore here that they took it for Uncle Silas by
the gait — which it wasrit, and they knowed it when they
swore to that lie.

" A man out in the moonlight did see a murdered person
put underground in the tobacker-field — but it wasn't Uncle
Silas that done the burying. He was in his bed at that
very time.

" Now, then, before I go on, I want to ask you if you've
ever noticed this : that people, when they're thinking deep,
or when they're worried, are most always doing something
with their hands, and they don't know it, and don't notice
what it is their hands are doing. Some stroke their chins;
some stroke their noses ; some stroke up under their chin

with their hand ; some twirl a chain, some fumble a button,
then there's some that draws a figure or a letter with their
finger on their cheek, or under their chin or on their under
lip. That's my way. When I'm restless, or worried, or
thinking hard, I draw capital V's on my cheek or on my un
der lip or under my chin, and never anything but capital
V's — and half the time I don't notice it and don't know
I'm doing it."

That was odd. That is just what I do ; only I make an
O. And I could see people nodding to one another, same |
as they do when they mean "thafs so."

" Now then, I'll go on. That same Saturday — no, it was
the night before — there was a steamboat laying at Flagler's
Landing, forty miles above here, and it was raining and
storming like the nation. And there was a thief aboard,
and he had them two big di'monds that's advertised out
here on this court-house door ; and he slipped ashore with
his hand-bag and struck out into the dark and the storm,
and he was a-hoping he could get to this town all right and
be safe. But he had two pals aboard the boat, hiding, and
he knowed they was going to kill him the first chance they
got and take the di'monds; because all three stole them,
and then this fellow he got hold of them and skipped.

"Well, he hadn't been gone more'n ten minutes before
his pals found it out, and they jumped ashore and lit out
after him. Prob'ly they burnt matches and found his
tracks. Anyway, they dogged along after him all day Sat
urday and kept out of his sight ; and towards sundown he
come to the bunch of sycamores down by Uncle Silas's
field, and he went in there to get a disguise out of his hand
bag and put it on before he showed himself here in the
town — and mind you he done that just a little after the
time that Uncle Silas was hitting Jubiter Dunlap over the
head with a club — for he did hit him.

182

" But the minute the pals see that thief slide into the
bunch of sycamores, they jumped out of the bushes and
slid in after him.

" They fell on him and clubbed him to death.

"Yes, for all he screamed and howled so, they never had
no mercy on him, but clubbed him to death. And two men
that was running along the road heard him yelling that way,
and they made a rush into the sycamore bunch — which was
where they was bound for, anyway — and when the pals saw
them they lit out and the two new men after them a-chasing
them as tight as they could go. But only a minute or two
— then these two new men slipped back very quiet into the
sycamores.

" Then what did they do ? I will tell you what they done.
They found where the thief had got his disguise out of his
carpet-sack to put on ; so one of them strips and puts on
that disguise."

Tom waited a litttle here, for some more " effect "—then
he says, very deliberate —

C" The man that put on that dead man's disguise was —
Jubiter Dunlap /"
" Great Scott !" everybody shouted, all over the house,
and old Uncle Silas he looked perfectly astonished.

" Yes, it was Jubiter Dunlap. Not dead, you see. Then
they pulled off the dead man's boots and put Jubiter Dun-
lap's old ragged shoes on the corpse and put the corpse's
boots on Jubiter Dunlap. Then Jubiter Dunlap stayed where
he was, and the other man lugged the dead body off in the
twilight ; and after midnight he went to Uncle Silas's house,
and took his old green work-robe off of the peg where it al
ways hangs in the passage betwixt the house and the kitch.
en and put it on, and stole the long-handled shovel and
went off down into the tobacker-field and buried the mur
dered man."

*• AND THERE WAS THE MURDERED MAN

He stopped, and stood a half a minute. Then —

" And who do you reckon the murdered man was ? It
was — Jake Dunlap, the long-lost burglar !"

" Great Scott !"

"And the man that buried him was — Brace Dunlap, his ^
brother !"

" Great Scott !"

" And who do you reckon is this mowing idiot here that's
letting on all these weeks to be a deef and dumb stranger ? \/
Ws—Jubitfr Dunlap !"

My land, they all busted out in a howl, and you never
see the like of that excitement since the day you was born.
And Tom he made a jump for Jupiter and snaked off his
goggles and his false whiskers, and there was the murdered
man, sure enough, just as alive as anybody! And Aunt
Sally and Benny they went to hugging and crying and kiss
ing and smothering old Uncle Silas to that degree he was
more muddled and confused and mushed up in his mind
than he ever was before, and that is saying considerable.
And next, people begun to yell —

" Tom Sawyer ! Tom Sawyer ! Shut up everybody, and
let him go on ! Go on, Tom Sawyer !"

Which made him feel uncommon bully, for it was nuts
for Tom Sawyer to be a public character thataway, and a
hero, as he calls it. So when it was all quiet, he says —

" There ain't much left, only this. When that man there,
Brace Dunlap, had most worried the life and sense out of
Uncle Silas till at last he pLum lost his mind and hit this
other blatherskite his brother with a club, I reckon he seen
his chance. Jubiter broke for the woods to hide, and I
reckon the game was for him to slide out, in the night, and
leave the country. Then Brace would make everybody
believe Uncle Silas killed him and hid his body somers ;
and that would ruin Uncle Silas and drive him out of the

1 54

country — hang him, maybe; I dunno. But when they
found their dead brother in the sycamores without knowing
him, because he was so battered up, they see they had a
better thing ; disguise both and bury Jake and dig him up
presently all dressed up in Jubiter's clothes, and hire Jim
Lane and Bill Withers and the others to swear to some
handy lies — which they done. And there they set, now,
and I told them they would be looking sick before I got
done, and that is the way they're looking now.

"Well, me and Huck Finn here, we come down on the
boat with the thieves, and the dead one told us all about
the diamonds, and said the others would murder him if they
got the chance ; and we was going to help him all we could.
We was bound for the sycamores when we heard them kill
ing him in there ; but we was in there in the early morning
after the storm and allowed nobody hadn't been killed, after
all. And when we see Jubiter Dunlap here spreading
around in the very same disguise Jake told us he was going
to wear, we thought it was Jake his own self — and he was
goo-gooing deef and dumb, and that was according to
agreement.

"Well, me and Huck went on hunting for the corpse
after the others quit, and we found it. And was proud,
too ; but Uncle Silas he knocked us crazy by telling us He
killed the man. So we was mighty sorry we found the
body, and was bound to save Uncle Silas's neck if we could,
and it was going to be tough work, too, because he wouldn't
let us break him out of prison the way we done with our old
nigger Jim.

" I done everything I could the whole month to think up
some way to save Uncle Silas, but I couldn't strike a thing.
So when we come into court to-day I come empty, and
couldn't see no chance anywheres. But by-and-by I had a
glimpse of something that set me thinking — just a little wee

;' WHICH MADE HIM FEEL UNCOMMON BULLY

glimpse — only that, and not enough to make sure ; but it I
set me thinking hard — and watching, when I was only let
ting on to think ; and by-and-by, sure enough, when Uncle
Silas was piling out that stuff about him killing Jubiter Dun-
lap, I catched that glimpse again, and this time I jumped
up and shut down the proceedings, because I knowed Jubi
ter Dunlap was a-setting here before me. JL knowed him
by a thing which 1 seen him do — and I remembered it. I'd
seen him do it when I was here a year ago." .

He stopped then, and studied a minute — laying for an I
"effect" — I knowed it perfectly well. Then he turned off 1
like he was going to leave the platform, and says, kind of '
lazy and indifferent — 1

" Well, I believe that is all."

Why, you never heard such a howl ! — and it come from
the whole house :

" What was it you seen him do ? Stay where you are,
you little devil ! You think you are going to work a body
up till his mouth's a-watering and stop there ? What was it
he done ?"

That was it, you see — he just done it to get an " effect ";
you couldn't 'a' pulled him off of that platform with a yoke
of oxen. ~~* 7

" Oh, it wasn't anything much," he says. " I seen him
looking a little excited when he found Uncle Silas was
actuly fixing to hang himself for a murder that warn't ever
done ; and he got more and more nervous and worried, I
a-watching him sharp but not seeming to look at him — and
all of a sudden his hands begun to work and fidget, and
pretty soon his left crept up and his finger drawed a cross on \
his cheek, and then I had him !" • 1

Well, then they ripped and howled and stomped and
clapped their hands till Tom Sawyer was that proud
and happy he didn't know what to do with himself. And

i86

then the judge he looked down over his pulpit and
says-

" My boy, did you see jail the various details of this
strange conspiracy and tragedy that you've been describ
ing?"

" No, your honor, I didn't see any of them."

" Didn't see any of them ! Why, you've told the. Wfible
history straight through, just the same as if you'd ,vseen it
with your eyes. How did you manage that ?"

Tom says, kind of easy and comfortable —

" Oh, just noticing the evidence and piecing this and that
together, your honor ; just. , an ordinary little bit of detec
tive work ; anybody could 'a1 done it."

" Nothing of the kind ! Not two in a million could 'a'
done it. You are a very remarkable boy."

Then they let go and give Tom another smashing round,
and he — well, he wouldn't 'a' sold out for a silver mine.
Then the judge says —

" But are you certain you've got this curious history
straight ?"

" Perfectly, your honor. Here is Brace Dunlap — let
him deny his share of it if he wants to take the chance; I'll
engage to make him wish he hadn't said anything. . . .
Well, you see he's pretty quiet. And his brother's pretty
quiet, and them four witnesses that lied so and got paid for
it, they're pretty quiet. And as for Uncle Silas, it ain't any
use for him to put in his oar, I wouldn't believe him under
oath 1"

Well, sir, that fairly made them shout ; and even the
judge he let go and laughed. Tom he wa^ just feeling like
a rainbow. When they was done laughing he looks up at
the judge and says —

"Your honor, there's a thief in this house."

"A thief?"

i87

"Yes, sir. And he's got them twelve - thousand - dollar
di'monds on him."

By gracious, but it made a stir ! Everybody went shout
ing—

" Which is him ? which is him ? p'int him out !"

And the judge says —

"Point him out, my lad. Sheriff, you will arrest him.
Which one is it?"

Tom says —

" This late dead man here — Jubiter Dunlap."

Then there was another thundering let-go of astonish
ment and excitement ; but Jubiter, which was astonished
enough before, was just fairly putrefied with astonishment
this time. And he spoke up, about half crying, and
says —

" Now thafs a lie ! Your honor, it ain't fair ; I'm plenty
bad enough without that. I done the other things — Brace
he put me up to it, and persuaded me, and promised he'd
make me rich, some day, and I done it, and I'm sorry I
done it, and I wisht I hadn't; but I hain't stole no di'
monds, and I hain't got no di'monds ; I wisht I may
never stir if it ain't so. The sheriff can search me and
see."

Tom says —

" Your honor, it wasn't right to call him a thief, and I'll
let up on that a little. He did steal the di'monds, but he
didn't know it. He stole them from his brother Jake when
he was laying dead, after Jake had stole them from the
other thieves , but Jubiter didn't know he was stealing
them ; and he's been swelling around here with them a
month ; yes, sir, twelve thousand dollars' jvorth of di'monds
on him — all that riches, and going around here every day
just like a poor man. Yes, your honor, he's got them on
him now."

188

The judge spoke up and says —

"Search him, sheriff."

Well, sir, the sheriff he ransacked him high and low, and
everywhere : searched his hat, socks, seams, boots, every
thing — and Tom he stood there quiet, laying for anoth
er of them effects of hisn. Finally the sheriff he give
it up, and everybody looked disappointed, and Jubiter
says —

" There, now ! what'd I tell you ?"

And the judge says —

" It appears you were mistaken this time, my boy."

Then Tom he took an attitude and let on to be studying
with all his might, and scratching his head. Then all of a
sudden he glanced up chipper, and says —

" Oh, now I've got it ! I'd forgot."

Which was a lie, and I knowed it. Then he says—

"Will somebody be good enough to lend me a little small
screw-driver? There was one in your brother's hand-bag
that you smouched, Jubiter, but I reckon you didn't fetch
it with you."

" No, I didn't. I didn't want it, and I give it away."

" That was because you didn't know what it was for."

Jubiter had his boots on again, by now, and when the
thing Tom wanted was passed over the people's heads till
it got to him, he says to Jubiter —

" Put up your foot on this chair." And he kneeled down
and begun to unscrew the heel-plate, everybody watching-,
and when he got that big di'mond out of that boot- heel
and held it up and let it flash and blaze and squirt sunlight
everwhichaway, it just took everybody's breath ; and Jubiter
he looked so sick and sorry you never see the like of it.
And when Tom held up the other di'mond he looked sorrier
than ever. Land! he was thinking how he would 'a' skipped
out and been rich and independent in a foreign land if he'd

189

only had the luck to guess what the screw-driver was in
the carpet-bag for.

Well, it was a most exciting time, take it all around, and
Tom got cords of glory. The judge took the di'monds, and
stood up in his pulpit, and cleared his throat, and shoved
his spectacles back on his head, and says —

" I'll keep them and notify the owners ; and when they
send for them it will be a real pleasure to me to hand
you the two thousand dollars, for you've earned the money
— yes, and you've earned the deepest and most sincerest l\
thanks of this community besides, for lifting a wronged
and innocent family out of ruin and shame, and saving a
good and honorable man from a felon's death, and for ex
posing to infamy and the punishment of the law a cruel
and odious scoundrel and his miserable creatures !"

Well, sir, if there'd been a brass band to bust out some
music, then, it would 'a' been just the perfectest thing I ever
see, and Tom Sawyer he said the same.

Then the sheriff he nabbed Brace Dunlap and his crowd,
and by-and-by next month the judge had them up for trial
and jailed the whole lot. And everybody crowded back to
Uncle Silas's little old church, and was ever so loving and
kind to him and the family and couldn't do enough for
them ; and Uncle Silas he preached them the blamedest
jumbledest idiotic sermons you ever struck, and would tan
gle you up so you couldn't find your way home in daylight;
but the people never let on but what they thought it was
the clearest and brightest and elegantest sermons that ever
was ; and they would set there and cry, for love and pity ;
but, by George, they give me the jim-jams and the fan-tods
and caked up what brains I had, and turned them solid ;
but by-and-by they loved the old man's intellects back into
him again and he was as sound in his skull as ever he was, >
which ain't no flattery, I reckon. And so

I9Q

P»»

was as happy as birds, and nobody could be gratefuler and
lovinger than what they was to Tom Sawyer ; and the same
to me, though I hadn't done nothing. And when the two
thousand dollars come, Tom give half of it to me, and never
told anybody so, which didn't surprise me, because I knowed
him.

THE STOLEN WHITE ELEPHANT

AND OTHER STORIES

THE STOLEN WHITE ELEPHANT*

THE following curious history was related to me by a
chance railway acquaintance. He was a gentleman more
than seventy years of age, and his thoroughly good and
gentle face and earnest and sincere manner imprinted the
unmistakable stamp of truth upon every statement which
fell from his lips. He said —

You know in what reverence the royal white elephant of
Siam is held by the people of that country. You know it
is sacred to kings, only kings may possess it, and that it is
indeed in a measure even superior to kings, since it receives
not merely honor but worship. Very well ; five years ago,
when the troubles concerning the frontier line arose between
Great Britain and Siam, it was presently manifest that
Siam had been in the wrong. Therefore every reparation
was quickly made, and the British representative stated
that he was satisfied and the past should be forgotten.
This greatly relieved the King of Siam, and partly as a
token of gratitude, but partly also, perhaps, to wipe out any

* Left out of " A Tramp Abroad," because it was feared that some of
the particulars had been exaggerated, and that others were not true.
Before these suspicions had been proven groundless, the book had gone
to press. — M. T.

192

little remaining vestige of unpleasantness which England
might feel towards him, he wished to send the Queen a
present — the sole sure way of propitiating an enemy,
according to Oriental ideas. This present ought not only
to be a royal one, but transcendently royal. Wherefore,
what offering could be so meet as that of a white elephant ?
My position in the Indian civil service was such that I was
deemed peculiarly worthy of the honor of conveying the
present to her Majesty. A ship was fitted out for me and
my servants and the officers and attendants of the elephant,
and in due time I arrived in New York harbor and placed
my royal charge in admirable quarters in Jersey City. It
was necessary to remain awhile in order to recruit the
animal's health before resuming the voyage.

All went well during a fortnight — then my calamities
began. The white elephant was stolen ! I was called up at
dead of night and informed of this fearful misfortune. For
some moments I was beside myself with terror and anxiety;
I was helpless. Then I grew calmer and collected my
faculties. I soon saw my course — for indeed there was
but the one course for an intelligent man to pursue. Late
as it was, I flew to New York and got a policeman to con
duct me to the headquarters of the detective force. Fort
unately I arrived in time, though the chief of the force, the
celebrated Inspector Blunt, was just on the point of leaving
for his home. He was a man of middle size and compact
frame, and when he was thinking deeply he had a way of
knitting his brows and tapping his forehead reflectively with
his finger, which impressed you at once with the conviction
that you stood in the presence of a person of no common
order. The very sight of him gave me confidence and
made me hopeful. I stated my errand. It did not flurry
him in the least ; it had no more visible effect upon his
iron self-possession than if I had told him somebody had

193

stolen my dog. He motioned me to a seat, and said,
calmly —

" Allow me to think a moment, please."

So saying, he sat down at his office table and leaned his
head upon his hand. Several clerks were at work at the
other end of the room ; the scratching of their pens was all
the sound I heard during the next six or seven minutes.
Meantime the inspector sat there, buried in thought. Finally
he raised his head, and there was that in the firm lines of
his face which showed me that his brain had done its work
and his plan was made. Said he — and his voice was low
and impressive —

"This is no ordinary case. Every step must be warily
taken ; each step must be made sure before the next is vent
ured. And secrecy must be observed — secrecy profound
and absolute. Speak to no one about the matter, not even
the reporters. I will take care of them ; I will see that they
get only what it may suit my ends to let them know." He
touched a bell; a youth appeared. "Alaric, tell the re
porters to remain for the present." The boy retired. " Now
let us proceed to business — and systematically. Nothing
can be accomplished in this trade of mine without strict and
minute method."

He took a pen and some paper. "Now — name of the
elephant ?"

" Hassan Ben Ali Ben Selim Abdallah Mohammed Moise
Alhammal Jamsetjejeebhoy Dhuleep Sultan Ebu Bhud-
poor."

" Very well. Given name ?"

"Jumbo."

" Very well. Place of birth ?"

" The capital city of Siam."

" Parents living ?"

" No— dead."

194

" Had they any other issue besides this one ?"

" None. He was an only child."

"Very well. These matters are sufficient under that
head. Now please describe the elephant, and leave out no
particular, however insignificant — that is, insignificant from
your point of view. To men in my profession there are no
insignificant particulars ; they do not exist."

I described— he wrote. When I was done, he said —

"Now listen. If I have made any mistakes, correct me."

He read as follows —

" Height, 19 feet ; length from apex of forehead to inser
tion of tail, 26 feet; length of trunk, 16 feet ; length of tail,
6 feet j total length, including trunk and tail, 48 feet ; length
of tusks, 9^ feet ; ears in keeping with these dimensions ;
footprint resembles the mark left when one up-ends a barrel
in the snow ; color of the elephant, a dull white; has a hole
the size of a plate in each ear for the insertion of jewelry,
and possesses the habit in a remarkable degree of squirting
water upon spectators and of maltreating with his trunk not
only such persons as he is acquainted with, but even entire
strangers ; limps slightly with his right hind leg, and has a
small scar in his left armpit caused by a former boil ; had
on, when stolen, a castle containing seats for fifteen persons,
and a gold-cloth saddle-blanket the size of an ordinary
carpet."

There were no mistakes. The inspector touched the
bell, handed the description to Alaric, and said —

" Have fifty thousand copies of this printed at once and
mailed to every detective office and pawnbroker's shop on
the continent." Alaric retired. " There — so far, so good.
Next, I must have a photograph of the property."

I gave him one. He examined it critically, and said —

" It must do, since we can do no better ; but he has his
trunk curled up and tucked into his mouth. That is un-

195

fortunate, and is calculated to mislead, for of course he does
not usually have it in that position." He touched his bell.

"Alaric, have fifty thousand copies of this photograph
made, the first thing in the morning, and mail them with
the descriptive circulars."

Alaric retired to execute his orders. The inspector
said —

" It will be necessary to offer a reward, of course. Now
as to the amount ?"

" What sum would you suggest ?"

" To begin with, I should say — well, twenty-five thousand
dollars. It is an intricate and difficult business ; there are
a thousand avenues of escape and opportunities of conceal
ment. These thieves have friends and pals everywhere — "

" Bless me, do you know who they are ?"

The wary face, practised in concealing the thoughts and
feelings within, gave me no token, nor yet the replying
words, so quietly uttered —

" Never mind about that. I may, and I may not. We
generally gather a pretty shrewd inkling of who our man is
by the manner of his work and the size of the game he goes
after. We are not dealing with a pickpocket or a hall thief,
now, make up your mind to that. This property was not
' lifted ' by a novice. But, as I was saying, considering the
amount of travel which will have to be done, and the dili
gence with which the thieves will cover up their traces as
they move along, twenty-five thousand may be too small
a sum to offer, yet I think it worth while to start with
that."

So we determined upon that figure as a beginning. Then
this man, whom nothing escaped which could by any possi
bility be made to serve as a clew, said —

"There are cases in detective history to show that crim
inals have been detected through peculiarities in their ap-

196

petites. Now, what does this elephant eat, and how
much ?"

" Well, as to what he eats — he will eat anything. He
will eat a man, he will eat a Bible — he will eat anything be
tween a man and a Bible."

" Good — very good indeed, but too general. Details are
necessary — details are the only valuable things in our trade.
Very well — as to men. At one meal — or, if you prefer, dur
ing one day — how many men will he eat, if fresh ?"

" He would not care whether they were fresh or not; at a
single meal he would eat five ordinary men."

" Very good ; five men ; we will put that down. What
nationalities would he prefer ?"

" He is indifferent about nationalities. He prefers ac
quaintances, but is not prejudiced against strangers."

"Very good. Now, as to Bibles. How many Bibles
would he eat at a meal ?"

" He would eat an entire edition."

" It is hardly succinct enough. Do you mean the ordi
nary octavo, or the family illustrated ?"

" I think he would be indifferent to illustrations ; that is,
I think he would not value illustrations above simple letter
press."

" No, you do not get my idea. I refer to bulk. The or
dinary octavo Bible weighs about two pounds and a half,
while the great quarto with the illustrations weighs ten or
twelve. How many Dore Bibles would he eat at a meal ?"

" If you knew this elephant, you could not ask. He would
take what they had."

" Well, put it in dollars and cents, then. We must get at
it somehow. The Dord costs a hundred dollars a copy,
Russia leather, bevelled."

" He would require about fifty thousand dollars' worth —
say an edition of five hundred copies."

197

"Now that is more exact. I will put that down. Very
well ; he likes men and Bibles ; so far, so good. What else
will he eat ? I want particulars."

" He will leave Bibles to eat bricks, he will leave bricks
to eat bottles, he will leave bottles to eat clothing, he will
leave clothing to eat cats, he will leave cats to eat oysters,
he will leave oysters to eat ham, he will leave ham to eat
sugar, he will leave sugar to eat pie, he will leave pie to eat
potatoes, he will leave potatoes to eat bran, he will leave
bran to eat hay, he will leave hay to eat oats, he will leave
oats to eat rice, for he was mainly raised on it. There is
nothing whatever that he will not eat but European butter,
and he would eat that if he could taste it."

" Very good. General quantity at a meal — say about — "

" Well, anywhere from a quarter to half a ton."

" And he drinks—"

" Everything that is fluid. Milk, water, whiskey, molasses,
castor oil, camphene, carbolic acid — it is no use to go into
particulars ; whatever fluid occurs to you set it down. He
will drink anything that is fluid, except European coffee."

" Very good. As to quantity ?"

" Put it down five to fifteen barrels — his thirst varies ; his
other appetites do not."

" These things are unusual. They ought to furnish quite
good clews toward tracing him."

He touched the bell.

" Alaric, summon Captain Burns."

Burns appeared. Inspector Blunt unfolded the whole
matter to him, detail by detail. Then he said in the clear,
decisive tones of a man whose plans are clearly defined in
his head, and who is accustomed to command —

" Captain Burns, detail Detectives Jones, Davis, Halsey?
Bates, and Hackett to shadow the elephant."

" Yes, sir."

" Detail Detectives Moses, Dakin, Murphy, Rogers,
Tupper, Higgins, and Bartholomew to shadow the thieves."

" Yes, sir."

"Place a strong guard — a guard of thirty picked men,,
with a relief of thirty — over the place from whence the
elephant was stolen, to keep strict watch there night and
day, and allow none to approach — except reporters — with
out written authority from me."

" Yes, sir."

" Place detectives in plain clothes in the railway, steam
ship, and ferry depots, and upon all roadways leading out of
Jersey City, with orders to search all suspicious persons."

" Yes, sir."

" Furnish all these men with photograph and accompany
ing description of the elephant, and instruct them to search
all trains and outgoing ferry-boats and other vessels."

" Yes, sir."

" If the elephant should be found, let him be seized, and
the information forwarded to me by telegraph."

" Yes, sir."

" Let me be informed at once if any clews should be
found — footprints of the animal, or anything of that kind."

" Yes, sir."

"Get an order commanding the harbor police to patrol
the frontages vigilantly."

" Yes, sir."

" Despatch detectives in plain clothes over all the rail
ways, north as far as Canada, west as far as Ohio, south as
far as Washington."

" Yes, sir."

" Place experts in all the telegraph offices to listen to all
messages ; and let them require that all cipher despatches
be interpreted to them."

" Yes, sir."

199

" Let all these things be done with the utmost secrecy —
mind, the most impenetrable secrecy."

" Yes, sir."

" Report to me promptly at the usual hour."

" Yes, sir."

" Go !"

" Yes, sir."

He was gone.

Inspector Blunt was silent and thoughtful a moment,
while the fire in his eye cooled down and faded out. Then
he turned to me and said in a placid voice —

" I am not given to boasting, it is not my habit ; but —
we shall find the elephant."

I shook him warmly by the hand and thanked him ; and
I felt my thanks, too. The more I had seen of the man
the more I liked him, and the more I admired him and
marvelled over the mysterious wonders of his profession.
Then we parted for the night, and I went home with a far
happier heart than I had carried with me to his office.

NEXT morning it was all in the newspapers, in the mi
nutest detail. It even had additions — consisting of De
tective This, Detective That, and Detective The Other's
"Theory" as to how the robbery was done, who the rob
bers were, and whither they had flown with their booty.
There were eleven of these theories, and they covered all
the possibilities ; and this single fact shows what indepen
dent thinkers detectives are. No two theories were alike,
or even much resembled each other, save in one striking
particular, and in that one all the eleven theories were ab
solutely agreed. That was, that although the rear of my
building was torn out and the only door remained locked,
the elephant had not been removed through the rent, but
by some other (undiscovered) outlet. All agreed that the
robbers had made that rent only to mislead the detectives.
That never would have occurred to me or to any other lay
man, perhaps, but it had not deceived the detectives for a
moment. Thus, what I had supposed was the only thing
that had no mystery about it was in fact the very thing I
had gone furthest astray in. The eleven theories all named
the supposed robbers, but no two named the same robbers ;
the total number of suspected persons was thirty-seven.
The various newspaper accounts all closed with the most
important opinion of all — that of Chief Inspector Blunt.
A portion of this statement read as follows :—

" The chief knows who the two principals are, namely, ' Brick ' Duf
fy and ' Red ' McFadden. Ten days before the robbery was achieved

2OI

he was already aware that it was to be attempted, and had quietly pro
ceeded to shadow these two noted villains ; but unfortunately on the
night in question their track was lost, and before it could be found again
the bird was flown — that is, the elephant.

" Duffy and McFadden are the boldest scoundrels in the profession ;
the chief has reasons for believing that they are the men who stole the
stove out of the detective headquarters on a bitter night last winter —
in consequence of which the chief and every detective present were in
the hands of the physicians before morning, some with frozen feet, oth
ers with frozen fingers, ears, and other members."

When I read the first half of that I was more astonished
than ever at the wonderful sagacity of this strange man.
He not only saw everything in the present with a clear eye,
but even the future could not be hidden from him. I was
soon at his office, and said I could not help wishing he had
had those men arrested, and so prevented the trouble and
loss ; but his reply was simple and unanswerable : —

" It is not our province to prevent crime, but to punish
it. We cannot punish it until it is committed."

I remarked that the secrecy with which we had begun
had been marred by the newspapers ; not only all our facts
but all our plans and purposes had been revealed ; even all
the suspected persons had been named ; these would doubt
less disguise themselves now, or go into hiding.

"Let them. They will find that when I am ready for
them my hand will descend upon them, in their secret
places, as unerringly as the hand of fate. As to the news
papers, we must keep in with them. Fame, reputation, con
stant public mention — these are the detective's bread and
butter. He must publish his facts, else he will be supposed
to have none ; he must publish his theory, for nothing is so
strange or striking as a detective's theory, or brings him so
much wondering respect; we must publish our plans, for
these the journals insist upon having, and we could not
deny them without offending. We must constantly show

202

the public what we are doing, or they will believe we are
doing nothing. It is much pleasanter to have a newspaper
say, ' Inspector Blunt's ingenious and extraordinary theory
is as follows,' than to have it say some harsh thing, or, worse
still, some sarcastic one."

" I see the force of what you say. But I noticed that
in one part of your remarks in the papers this morning
you refused to reveal your opinion upon a certain minor
point."

" Yes, we always do that ; it has a good effect. Be
sides, I had not formed any opinion on that point, any
way."

I deposited a considerable sum of money with the in
spector, to meet current expenses, and sat down to wait for
news. We were expecting the telegrams to begin to arrive
at any moment now. Meantime I reread the newspapers
and also our descriptive circular, and observed that our
$25,000 reward seemed to be offered only to detectives. I
said I thought it ought to be offered to anybody who would
catch the elephant. The inspector said : —

" It is the detectives who will find the elephant, hence
the reward will go to the right place. If other people found
the animal, it would only be by watching the detectives
and taking advantage of clews and indications stolen from
them, and that would entitle the detectives to the reward,
after all. The proper office of a reward is to stimulate
the men who deliver up their time and their trained sa
gacities to this sort of work, and not to confer benefits
upon chance citizens who stumble upon a capture with
out having earned the benefits by their own merits and
labors."

This was reasonable enough, certainly. Now the tele
graphic machine in the corner began to click, and the fol
lowing despatch was the result :—

203

FLOWER STATION, N. Y., 7.30 A.M.

Have got a clew. Found a succession of deep tracks across a farm
near here. Followed them two miles east without result ; think ele
phant went west. Shall now shadow him in that direction.

DARLEY, Detective.

" Barley's one of the best men on the force," said the
inspector. " We shall hear from him again before long."
Telegram No. 2 came : —

BARKER'S, N. J., 7.40 A.M.

Just arrived. Glass factory broken open here during night, and
eight hundred bottles taken. Only water in large quantity near here is
five miles distant. Shall strike for there. Elephant will be thirsty.
Bottles were empty.

BAKER, Detective.

"That promises well, too," said the inspector. "I told
you the creature's appetites would not be bad clews."
Telegram No. 3 : —

TAYLORVILLE, L. I., 8.15 A.M.

A haystack near here disappeared during night. Probably eaten.
Have got a clew, and am off.

HUBBARD, Detective.

" How he does move around !" said the inspector. " I
knew we had a difficult job on hand, but we shall catch him
yet."

FLOWER STATION, N. Y., 9 A.M.

Shadowed the tracks three miles westward. Large, deep, and ragged.
Have just met a farmer who says they are not elephant tracks. Says
they are holes where he dug up saplings for shade - trees when ground
was frozen last winter. Give me orders how to proceed.

DARLEY, Detective.

"Aha! a confederate of the thieves ! The thing grows
warm," said the inspector.

He dictated the following telegram to Darley : —

204

Arrest the man and force him to name his pals. Continue to follow
the tracks— to the Pacific, if necessary.

Chief BLUNT.

.Next telegram: —

CONEY POINT, PA., 8.45 A.M.

Gas office broken open here during night and three months' unpaid
gas bills taken. Have got a clew and am away.

MURPHY, Detective.

" Heavens !" said the inspector ; " would he eat gas
bills ?"

" Through ignorance — yes ; but they cannot support life.
At least, unassisted."

Now came this exciting telegram :—

IRONVILLE, N. Y., 9.30 A.M.

Just arrived. This village in consternation. Elephant passed through
here at five this morning. Some say he went east, some say west, some
north, some south — but all say they did not wait to notice particularly.
He killed a horse ; have secured a piece of it for a clew. Killed it with
his trunk ; from style of blow, think he struck it left-handed. From
position in which horse lies, think elephant travelled northward along
line of Berkley railway. Has four and a half hours' start, but I move
on his track at once.

HAWES, Detective.

I uttered exclamations of joy. The inspector was as
self-contained as a graven image. He calmly touched his
bell.

" Alaric, send Captain Burns here."

Burns appeared.

" How many men are ready for instant orders ?"

" Ninety-six, sir."

" Send them north at once. Let them concentrate along
the line of the Berkley road north of Ironville."

" Yes, sir."

205

"Let them conduct their movements with the utmost
secrecy. As fast as others are at liberty, hold them for
orders."

"Yes, sir."

" Go !"

" Yes, sir."

Presently came another telegram : —

SAGE CORNERS, N.Y., 10.30.

Just arrived. Elephant passed through here at 8.15. All escaped
from the town but a policeman. Apparently elephant did not strike at
policeman, but at the lamp-post. Got both. I have secured a portion
of the policeman as clew.

STUMM, Detective.

" So the elephant has turned westward," said the inspect
or. " However, he will not escape, for my men are scatter
ed all over that region."

The next telegram said : —

GLOVER'S, 11.15.

Just arrived. Village deserted, except sick and aged. Elephant
passed through three-quarters of an hour ago. The anti-temperance
mass-meeting was in session ; he put his trunk in at a window and
washed it out with water from cistern. Some swallowed it — since dead ;
several drowned. Detectives Cross and O'Shaughnessy were passing
through town, but going south — so missed elephant. Whole region for
many miles around in terror — people flying from their homes. Wher
ever they turn they meet elephant, and many are killed.

BRANT, Detective.

I could have shed tears, this havoc so distressed me.
But the inspector only said —

"You see — we are closing in on him. He feels our
presence ; he has turned eastward again."

Yet further troublous news was in store for us. The
telegraph brought this : —

206

HOGANPORT, I2.IQ.

Just arrived. Elephant passed through half an hour ago, creating
wildest fright and excitement. Elephant raged around streets ; two
plumbers going by, killed one — other escaped. Regret general.

O 'FLAHERTY, Detective.

" Now he is right in the midst of my men," said the in
spector. " Nothing can save him."

A succession of telegrams came from detectives who
were scattered through New Jersey and Pennsylvania, and
who were following clews consisting of ravaged barns,
factories, and Sunday-school libraries, with high hopes —
hopes amounting to certainties, indeed. The inspector
said —

" I wish I could communicate with them and order them
north, but that is impossible. A detective only visits a
telegraph office to send his report ; then he is off again, and
you don't know where to put your hand on him."

Now came this despatch : —

BRIDGEPORT, CT., 12.15.

Barnum offers rate of $4000 a year for exclusive privilege of using
elephant as travelling advertising medium from now till detectives find
him. Wants to paste circus-posters on him. Desires immediate an
swer.

BOGGS, Detective.

" That is perfectly absurd !" I exclaimed.

"Of course it is," said the inspector. "Evidently Mr.
Barnum, who thinks he is so sharp, does not know me — but
I know him."

Then he dictated this answer to the despatch : —

Mr. Barnum's offer declined. Make it $7000 or nothing.

Chief BLUNT.

" There. We shall not have to wait long for an answer.

207

Mr. Barnum is not at home ; he is in the telegraph office
— it is his way when he has business on hand. Inside of
three—"

DONE.— P. T. BARNUM.

So interrupted the clicking telegraphic instrument. Before
I could make a comment upon this extraordinary episode,
the following despatch carried my thoughts into another
and very distressing channel : —

BOLIVIA, N. Y., 12.50.

Elephant arrived here from the south and passed through toward the
forest at 11.50, dispersing a funeral on the way, and diminishing the
mourners by two. Citizens fired some small cannon-balls into him, and
then fled. Detective Burke and I arrived ten minutes later, from the
north, but mistook some excavations for footprints, and so lost a good
deal of time ; but at last we struck the right trail and followed it to the
woods. We then got down on our hands and knees and continued to
keep a sharp eye on the track, and so shadowed it into the brush.
Burke was in advance. Unfortunately the animal had stopped to rest ;
therefore, Burke having his head down, intent upon the track, butted
up against the elephant's hind legs before he was aware of his vicinity.
Burke instantly rose to his feet, seized the tail, and exclaimed joyfully,
" I claim the re — " but got no further, for a single blow of the huge
trunk laid the brave fellow's fragments low in death. I fled rearward,
and the elephant turned and shadowed me to the edge of the wood,
making tremendous speed, and I should inevitably have been lost, but
that the remains of the funeral providentially intervened again and di
verted his attention. I have just learned that nothing of that funeral is
now left ; but this is no loss, for there is an abundance of material for
another. Meantime, the elephant has disappeared again.

MULROONEY, Detective.

We heard no news except from the diligent and confident
detectives scattered about New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Dela
ware, and Virginia — who were all following fresh and en
couraging clews — until shortly after 2 P.M., when this tele
gram came : —

208

BAXTER CENTRE, 2.15.

Elephant been here, plastered over with circus-bills, and broke up a
revival, striking down and damaging many who were on the point of
entering upon a better life. Citizens penned him up and established a
guard. When Detective Brown and I arrived, some time after, we en
tered enclosure and proceeded to identify elephant by photograph and
description. All marks tallied exactly except one, which we could not
see — the boil-scar under armpit. To make sure, Brown crept under to
look, and was immediately brained — that is, head crushed and de
stroyed, though nothing issued from debris. All fled; so did elephant,
striking right and left with much effect. Has escaped, but left bold
blood -track from cannon -wounds. Rediscovery certain. He broke
southward, through a dense forest.

BRENT, Detective.

That was the last telegram. At nightfall a fog shut down
which was so dense that objects but three feet away could
not be discerned. This lasted all night. The ferry-boats
and even the omnibuses had to stop running.

Ill

NEXT morning the papers were as full of detective theo
ries as before ; they had all our tragic facts in detail also,
and a great many more which they had received from their
telegraphic correspondents. Column after column was oc
cupied, a third of its way down, with glaring head-lines,
which it made my heart sick to read. Their general tone
was like this : —

" THE WHITE ELEPHANT AT LARGE ! HE MOVES UPON HIS FATAL
MARCH ! WHOLE VILLAGES DESERTED BY THEIR FRIGHT-STRICK
EN OCCUPANTS ! PALE TERROR GOES BEFORE HIM, DEATH AND
DEVASTATION FOLLOW AFTER ! AFTER THESE, THE DETECTIVES !
BARNS DESTROYED, FACTORIES GUTTED, HARVESTS DEVOURED, PUB
LIC ASSEMBLAGES DISPERSED, ACCOMPANIED BY SCENES OF CARNAGE
IMPOSSIBLE TO DESCRIBE ! THEORIES OF THIRTY-FOUR OF THE MOST
DISTINGUISHED DETECTIVES ON THE FORCE ! THEORY OF CHIEF
BLUNT !"

" There !" said Inspector Blunt, almost betrayed into ex
citement, " this is magnificent ! This is the greatest wind
fall that any detective organization ever had. The fame of
it will travel to the ends of the earth, and endure to the end
of time, and my name with it."

But there was no joy for me. I felt as if I had commit
ted all those red crimes, and that the elephant was only my
irresponsible agent. And how the list had grown ! In one
place he had " interfered with an election and killed five
repeaters." He had followed this act with the destruction
of two poor fellows, named O'Donohue and McFlannigan,

210

who had "found a refuge in the home of the oppressed of
all lands only the day before, and were in the act of exer
cising for the first time the noble right of American citizens
at the polls, when stricken down by the relentless hand of
the Scourge of Siam." In another, he had "found a crazy
sensation-preacher preparing his next season's heroic at
tacks on the dance, the theatre, and other things which
can't strike back, and had stepped on him." And in still
another place he had "killed a lightning-rod agent." And
so the list went on, growing redder and redder, and more
and more heart-breaking. Sixty persons had been killed,
and two hundred and forty wounded. All the accounts
bore just testimony to the activity and devotion of the de
tectives, and all closed with the remark that " three hun
dred thousand citizens and four detectives saw the dread
creature, and two of the latter he destroyed."

I dreaded to hear the telegraphic instrument begin to
click again. By-and-by the messages began to pour in, but
I was happily disappointed in their nature. It was soon
apparent that all trace of the elephant was lost. The fog
had enabled him to search out a good hiding-place unob
served. Telegrams from the most absurdly distant points
reported that a dim vast mass had been glimpsed there
through the fog at such and such an hour, and was " undoubt
edly the elephant." This dim vast mass had been glimpsed
in New Haven, in New Jersey, in Pennsylvania, in interior
New York, in Brooklyn, and even in the city of New York
itself ! But in all cases the dim vast mass had vanished
quickly and left no trace. Every detective of the large force
scattered over this huge extent of country sent his hourly
report, and each and every one of them had a clew, and
was shadowing something, and was hot upon the heels of it

But the day passed without other result.

The next day the same.

211

The next just the same.

The newspaper reports began to grow monotonous with
facts that amounted to nothing, clews which led to nothing,
and theories which had nearly exhausted the elements
which surprise and delight and dazzle.

By advice of the inspector I doubled the reward.

Four more dull days followed. Then came a bitter blow
to the poor, hard-working detectives — the journalists de
clined to print their theories, and coldly said, " Give us a
rest."

Two weeks after the elephant's disappearance I raised
the reward to $75,000 by the inspector's advice. It was a
great sum, but I felt that I would rather sacrifice my whole
private fortune than lose my credit with my government.
Now that the detectives were in adversity, the newspapers
turned upon them, and began to fling the most stinging sar
casms at them. This gave the minstrels an idea, and they
dressed themselves as detectives and hunted the elephant
on the stage in the most extravagant way. The caricaturists
made pictures of detectives scanning the country with spy
glasses, while the elephant, at their backs, stole apples out of
their pockets. And they made all sorts of ridiculous pictures
of the detective badge — you have seen that badge printed
in gold on the back of detective novels, no doubt — it is a
wide -staring eye, with the legend, "WE NEVER SLEEP."
When detectives called for a drink, the would-be facetious
bar-keeper resurrected an obsolete form of expression and
said, " Will you have an eye-opener ?" All the air was thick
with sarcasms.

But there was one man who moved calm, untouched, un
affected, through it all. It was that heart of oak, the Chief
Inspector. His brave eye never drooped, his serene con
fidence never wavered. He always said —

" Let them rail on ; he laughs best who laughs last."

212

My admiration for the man grew into a species of wor
ship. I was at his side always. His office had become an
unpleasant place to me, and now became daily more and
more so. Yet if he could endure it I meant to do so also
— at least, as long as I could. So I came regularly, and
stayed — the only outsider who seemed to be capable of it.
Everybody wondered how I could ; and often it seemed to
me that I must desert, but at such times I looked into that
calm and apparently unconscious face, and held my ground.

About three weeks after the elephant's disappearance I
was about to say, one morning, that I should have to strike
my colors and retire, when the great detective arrested the
thought by proposing one more superb and masterly move.

This was to compromise with the robbers. The fertility
of this man's invention exceeded anything I have ever seen,
and I have had a wide intercourse with the world's finest
minds. He said he was confident he could compromise for
$100,000 and recover the elephant. I said I believed I could
scrape the amount together, but what would become of the
poor detectives who had worked so faithfully ? He said —

" In compromises they always get half."

This removed my only objection. So the inspector wrote
two notes, in this form :—

DEAR MADAM, — Your husband can make a large sum of money (and
be entirely protected from the law) by making an immediate appoint
ment with me.

Chief BLUNT.

He sent one of these by his confidential messenger to
the " reputed wife " of Brick Duffy, and the other to the re
puted wife of Red McFadden.

Within the hour these offensive answers came : —

YE OWLD FOOL : brick McDufFys bin ded 2 yere.

BRIDGET MAHONEY.

213

CHIEF BAT, — Red McFadden is hung and in heving 18 month. Any
Ass but a detective knose that.

MARY O'HOOLIGAN.

" I had long suspected these facts," said the inspector ;
"this testimony proves the unerring accuracy of my in
stinct."

The moment one resource failed him he was ready with
another. He immediately wrote an advertisement for the
morning papers, and I kept a copy of it : —

A. — xwblv. 242 N. Tjnd — fz328wmlg. Ozpo, — ; 2 m ! ogw. Mum.

He said that if the thief was alive this would bring him
to the usual rendezvous. He further explained that the
usual rendezvous was a place where all business affairs be
tween detectives and criminals were conducted. This meet
ing would take place at twelve the next night.

We could do nothing till then, and I lost no time in get
ting out of the office, and was grateful indeed for the privi
lege.

At ii the next night I brought $100,000 in bank-notes
and put them into the chief's hands, and shortly afterward
he took his leave, with the brave old undimmed confidence
in his eye. An almost intolerable hour dragged to a close ;
then I heard his welcome tread, and rose gasping and tot
tered to meet him. How his fine eyes flamed with triumph !
He said —

" WeVe compromised ! The jokers will sing a different
tune to-morrow ! Follow me !"

He took a lighted candle and strode down into the vast
vaulted basement where sixty detectives always slept, and
where a score were now playing cards to while the time.
I followed close after him. He walked swiftly down to
the dim remote end of the place, and just as I succumbed

214

to the pangs of suffocation and was swooning away he
stumbled and fell over the outlying members of a mighty
object, and I heard him exclaim as he went down —

" Our noble profession is vindicated. Here is your ele
phant !"

I was carried to the office above and restored with car
bolic acid. The whole detective force swarmed in, and
such another season of triumphant rejoicing ensued as I
had never witnessed before. The reporters were called,
baskets of champagne were opened, toasts were drunk, the
handshakings and congratulations were continuous and en
thusiastic. Naturally the chief was the hero of the hour,
and his happiness was so complete and had been so patiently
and worthily and bravely won that it made me happy to see
it, though I stood there a homeless beggar, my priceless
charge dead, and my position in my country's service lost
to me through what would always seem my fatally careless
execution of a great trust. Many an eloquent eye testified
its deep admiration for the chief, and many a detective's
voice murmured, " Look at him — just the king of the pro
fession : only give him a clew, it's all he wants, and there
ain't anything hid that he can't find." The dividing of the
$50,000 made great pleasure; when it was finished the chief
made a little speech while he put his share in his pocket, in
which he said, " Enjoy it, boys, for you've earned it ; and
more than that you've earned for the detective profession
undying fame."

A telegram arrived, which read : —

MONROE, MICH., 10 P.M.

First time I've struck a telegraph office in over three weeks. Have
followed those footprints, horseback, through the woods, a thousand
miles to here, and they get stronger and bigger and fresher every day.
Don't worry — inside of another week I'll have the elephant. This is
dead sure.

DARLEY, Detective,

215

The chief ordered three cheers for " Darley, one of the
finest minds on the force," and then commanded that he
be telegraphed to come home and receive his share of the
reward.

So ended that marvellous episode of the stolen elephant.
The newspapers were pleasant with praises once more, the
next day, with one contemptible exception. This sheet
said, " Great is the detective ! He may be a little slow
in finding a little thing like a mislaid elephant — he may
hunt him all day and sleep with his rotting carcass all
night for three weeks, but he will find him at last — if he
can get the man who mislaid him to show him the place !"

Poor Hassan was lost to me forever. The cannon-shots
had wounded him fatally, he had crept to that unfriendly
place in the fog, and there, surrounded by his enemies and
in constant danger of detection, he had wasted away with
hunger and suffering till death gave him peace.

The compromise cost me $100,000; my detective ex
penses were $42,000 more ; I never applied for a place
again under my government ; I am a ruined man and a
wanderer in the earth — but my admiration for that man,
whom I believe to be the greatest detective the world has
ever produced, remains undimmed to this day, and will so
remain unto the end.

SOME RAMBLING NOTES OF AN IDLE
EXCURSION

ALL the journeyings I had ever done had been purely in
the way of business. The pleasant May weather suggested
a novelty— namely, a trip for pure recreation, the bread-and-
butter element left out. The Reverend said he would go,
too • a good man, one of the best of men, although a clergy
man. By eleven at night we were in New Haven and on
board the New York boat. We bought our tickets, and
then went wandering around, here and there, in the solid
comfort of being free and idle, and of putting distance
between ourselves and the mails and telegraphs.

After a while I went to my state-room and undressed, but
the night was too enticing for bed. We were moving down
the bay now, and it was pleasant to stand at the window
and take the cool night-breeze and watch the gliding lights
on shore. Presently, two elderly men sat down under that
window and began a conversation. Their talk was properly
no business of mine, yet I was feeling friendly toward the
world and willing to be entertained. I soon gathered that
they were brothers, that they were from a small Connecticut
village, and that the matter in hand concerned the cemetery.
Said one —

" Now, John, we talked it all over amongst ourselves, and
this is what we've done. You see, everybody was a-movin'
from the old buryin' ground, and our folks was 'most about
left to theirselves, as you may say. They was crowded, too,
as you know ; lot wa'n't big enough in the first place ; and
last year, when Seth's wife died, we couldn't hardly tuck her
in. She sort o' overlaid Deacon Shorb's lot, and he soured
on her, so to speak, and on the rest of us, too. So we talked
it over, and I was for a lay-out in the new simitery on the
hill. They wa'n't unwilling, if it was cheap. Well, the two
best and biggest plots was No. 8 and No. 9 — both of a
size; nice comfortable room for twenty-six — twenty -six
full-growns, that is j but you reckon in children and other
shorts, and strike an everage, and I should say you might
lay in thirty, or may be thirty-two or three, pretty genteel —
no crowdin' to signify."

" That's a plenty, William. Which one did you buy ?"

" Well, I'm a-comin' to that, John. You see, No. 8 was
thirteen dollars, No. 9 fourteen — "

" I see. So's't you took No. 8."

"You wait. I took No. 9. And I'll tell you for why.
In the first place, Deacon Shorb wanted it. Well, after the
way he'd gone on about Seth's wife overlappin' his prem'ses,
I'd 'a' beat him out of that No. 9 if I'd 'a' had to stand two
dollars extra, let alone one. That's the way I felt about it.
Says I, what's a dollar, anyway ? Life's on'y a pilgrimage,
says I ; we ain't here for good, and we can't take it with us,
says I. So I just dumped it down, knowin' the Lord don't
suffer a good deed to go for nothin', and cal'latin' to take
it out o' somebody in the course o' trade. Then there was
another reason, John. No. 9's a long way the handiest
lot in the simitery, and the likeliest for situation. It lays
right on top of a knoll in the dead centre of the buryin'
ground ; and you can see Millport from there, and Tracy's,

218

and Hopper Mount, and a raft o' farms, and so on. There
ain't no better outlook from a buryin' plot in the State. Si
Higgins says so, and I reckon he ought to know. Well,
and that ain't all. 'Course Shorb had to take No. 8 ; wa'n't
no help for 't. Now, No. 8 jines on to No. 9, but it's on
the slope of the hill, and every time it rains it'll soak right
down on to the Shorbs. Si Higgins says 't when the deacon's
time comes, he better take out fire and marine insurance
both on his remains."

Here there was the sound of a low, placid, duplicate
chuckle of appreciation and satisfaction.

" Now, John, here's a little rough draught of the ground,
that I've made on a piece of paper. Up here in the left-
hand corner we've bunched the departed ; took them from
the old grave -yard and stowed them one along side o'
t'other, on a first-come-first-served plan, no partialities, with
Gran'ther Jones for a starter, on'y because it happened so,
and windin' up indiscriminate with Seth's twins. A little
crowded towards the end of the lay-out, may be, but we
reckoned 'twa'n't best to scatter the twins. Well, next
comes the livin'. Here, where it's marked A, we're goin' to
put Mariar and her family, when they're called ; B, that's for
Brother Hosea and hisn ; C, Calvin and tribe. What's left is
these two lots here — just the gem of the whole patch for gen
eral style and outlook; they're for me and my folks, and you
and yourn. Which of them would you ruther be buried in?"

" I swan you've took me mighty unexpected, William !
It sort of started the shivers. Fact is, I was thinkin' so
busy about makin' things comfortable for the others, I
hadn't thought about being buried myself."

" Life's on'y a fleetin' show, John, as the sayin' is.
We've all got to go, sooner or later. To go with a clean
record's the main thing. Fact is, it's the on'y thing worth
strivin' for, John."

" Yes, that's so, William, that's so ; there ain't no getting
around it. Which of these lots would you recommend ?"

" Well, it depends, John. Are you particular about
outlook ?"

"I don't say I am, William, I don't say I ain't. Reely,
I don't know. But mainly, I reckon, I'd set store by a
south exposure."

" That's easy fixed, John. They're both south exposure.
They take the sun, and the Shorbs get the shade."

"How about sile, William?"

" D's a sandy sile, E's mostly loom."

" You may gimme E, then, William ; a sandy sile caves
in, more or less, and costs for repairs."

"All right, set your name down here, John, under E.
Now, if you don't mind payin' me your share of the four
teen dollars, John, while we're on the business, everything's
fixed."

After some higgling and sharp bargaining the money
was paid, and John bade his brother good-night and took
his leave. There was silence for some moments ; then a
soft chuckle welled up from the lonely William, and he
muttered : " I declare for 't, if I haven't made a mistake !
It's D that's mostly loom, not E. And John's booked for a
sandy sile, after all."

There was another soft chuckle, and William departed to
his rest, also.

The next day, in New York, was a hot one. Still we
managed to get more or less entertainment out of it.
Toward the middle of the afternoon we arrived on board
the stanch steamship Bermuda, with bag and baggage, and
hunted for a shady place. It was blazing summer weather,
until we were half-way down the harbor. Then I buttoned
my coat closely; half an hour later I put on a spring over
coat and buttoned that. As we passed the light-ship I

22O

added an ulster and tied a handkerchief around the collar
to hold it snug to my neck. So rapidly had the summer
gone and winter come again !

By nightfall we were far out at sea, with no land in sight.
No telegrams could come here, no letters, no news. This
was an uplifting thought. It was still more uplifting to re
flect that the millions of harassed people on shore behind
us were suffering just as usual.

The next day brought us into the midst of the Atlantic
solitudes — out of smoke-colored soundings into fathomless
deep blue ; no ships visible anywhere over the wide ocean ;
no company but Mother Gary's chickens wheeling, darting,
skimming the waves in the sun. There were some sea
faring men among the passengers, and conversation drifted
into matters concerning ships and sailors. One said that
" true as the needle to the pole " was a bad figure, since
the needle seldom pointed to the pole. He said a ship's
compass was not faithful to any particular point, but was
the most fickle and treacherous of the servants of man.
It was forever changing. It changed every day in the
year ; consequently the amount of the daily variation had to
be ciphered out and allowance made for it, else the mariner
would go utterly astray. Another said there was a vast
fortune waiting for the genius who should invent a compass
that would not be affected by the local influences of an iron
ship. He said there was only one creature more fickle
than a wooden ship's compass, and that was the compass of
an iron ship. Then came reference to the well-known fact
that an experienced mariner can look at the compass of
a new iron vessel, thousands of miles from her birthplace,
and tell which way her head was pointing when she was
in process of building.

Now an ancient whale-ship master fell to talking about the
sort of crews they used to have in his early days. Said he —

221

" Sometimes we'd have a batch of college students.
Queer lot. Ignorant? Why, they didn't know the cat
heads from the main brace. But if you took them for fools
you'd get bit, sure. They'd learn more in a month than
another man would in a year. We had one, once, in the
Mary Ann, that came aboard with gold spectacles on.
And besides, he was rigged out from main truck to keelson
in the nobbiest clothes that ever saw a fo'castle. He had
a chest full, too: cloaks, and broadcloth coats, and velvet
vests : everything swell, you know ; and didn't the salt wa
ter fix them out for him ? I guess not ! Well, going to
sea, the mate told him to go aloft and help shake out the
fore-to'gallants'l. Up he shins to the foretop, with his spec
tacles on, and in a minute down he comes again, looking
insulted. Says the mate, 'What did you come down for?'
Says the chap, ' PYaps you didn't notice that there ain't
any ladders above there.' You see we hadn't any shrouds
above the foretop. The men bursted out in a laugh such
as I guess you never heard the like of. Next night, which
was dark and rainy, the mate ordered this chap to go aloft
about something, and I'm dummed if he didn't start up with
an umbrella and a lantern! But no matter; he made a
mighty good sailor before the voyage was done, and we had
to bunt up something else to laugh at. Years afterwards,
when I had forgot all about him, I comes into Boston, mate
of a ship, and was loafing around town with the second mate,
and it so happened that we stepped into the Revere House,
thinking maybe we would chance the salt-horse in that big
dining-room for a flyer, as the boys say. Some fellows were
talking just at our elbow, and one says, * Vender's the new
governor of Massachusetts — at that table over there, with
the ladies.' We took a good look, my mate and I, for we
hadn't either of us ever seen a governor before. I looked
and looked at that face, and then all of a sudden it popped

ISTB

222

on me ! But I didn't give any sign. Says I, * Mate, I've a
notion to go over and shake hands with him.' Says he, ' I
think I see you doing it, Tom.' Says I, ' Mate, I'm a-going
to do it.' Says he, ' Oh, yes, I guess so ! May be you
don't want to bet you will, Tom ?' Says I, ' I don't mind
going a V on it, mate.' Says he, 'Put it up.' 'Up she
goes,' says I, planking the cash. This surprised him. But
he covered it, and says, pretty sarcastic, ' Hadn't you bet
ter take your grub with the governor and the ladies, Tom ?'
Says I, 'Upon second thoughts, I will.' Says he, 'Well,
Tom, you are a dum fool.' Says I, 'Maybe I am, maybe
I ain't ; but the main question is, do you want to risk two
and a half that I won't do it?' 'Make it a V,' says he.
' Done,' says I. I started, him a-giggling and slapping his
hand on his thigh, he felt so good. I went over there
and leaned my knuckles on the table a minute and looked
the governor in the face, and says I, ' Mr. Gardner, don't
you know me ?' He stared, and I stared, and he stared.
Then all of a sudden he sings out, ' Tom Bowling, by the
holy poker! Ladies, it's old Tom Bowling, that you've
heard me talk about — shipmate of mine in the Mary Ann?
He rose up and shook hands with me ever so hearty — I
sort of glanced around and took a realizing sense of my
mate's saucer eyes — and then says the governor, 'Plant
yourself, Tom, plant yourself ; you can't cat your anchor
again till you've had a feed with me and the ladies !' I
planted myself alongside the governor, and canted my eye
around towards my mate. Well, sir, his dead-lights were
bugged out like tompions ; and his mouth stood that wide
open that you could have laid a ham in it without him no
ticing it."

There was great applause at the conclusion of the old
captain's story; then, after a moment's silence, a grave,
pale young man said —

223

" Had you ever met the governor before ?"
The old captain looked steadily at this inquirer awhile,
and then got up and walked aft without making any reply.
One passenger after another stole a furtive glance at the in
quirer, but failed to make him out, and so gave him up. It
took some little work to get the talk-machinery to running
smoothly again after this derangement ; but at length a
conversation sprang up about that important and jealously
guarded instrument, a ship's time-keeper, its exceeding deli
cate accuracy, and the wreck and destruction that have
sometimes resulted from its varying a few seemingly trifling
moments from the true time ; then, in due course, my com
rade, the Reverend, got off on a yarn, with a fair wind and
everything drawing. It was a true story, too — about Cap
tain Rounceville's shipwreck — true in every detail. It was
to this effect : —

Captain Rounceville's vessel was lost in mid - Atlantic,
and likewise his wife and his two little children. Captain
Rounceville and seven seamen escaped with life, but with
little else. A small, rudely constructed raft was to be their
home for eight days. They had neither provisions nor
water. They had scarcely any clothing ; no one had a coat
but the captain. This coat was changing hands all the
time, for the weather was very cold. Whenever a man be
came exhausted with the cold, they put the coat on him
and laid him down between two shipmates until the garment
and their bodies had warmed life into him again. Among
the sailors was a Portuguese who knew no English. He
seemed to have no thought of his own calamity, but was
concerned only about the captain's bitter loss of wife and
children. By day, he would look his dumb compassion in
the captain's face ; and by night, in the darkness and the
driving spray and rain, he would seek out the captain and

224

try to comfort him with caressing pats on the shoulder.
One day, when hunger and thirst were making their sure in
roads upon the men's strength and spirits, a floating barrel
was seen at a distance. It seemed a great find, for doubt
less it contained food of some sort. A brave fellow swam
to it, and after long and exhausting effort got it to the raft.
It was eagerly opened. It was a barrel of magnesia ! On
the fifth day an onion was spied. A sailor swam off and
got it. Although perishing with hunger, he brought it in
its integrity and put it into the captain's hand. The his
tory of the sea teaches that among starving, shipwrecked
men selfishness is rare, and a wonder-compelling magna
nimity the rule. The onion was equally divided into eight
parts, and eaten with deep thanksgivings. On the eighth
day a distant ship was sighted. Attempts were made to
hoist an oar, with Captain Rounceville's coat on it for a
signal. There were many failures, for the men were but
skeletons now, and strengthless. At last success was
achieved, but the signal brought no help. The ship faded
out of sight and left despair behind her. By-and-by another
ship appeared, and passed so near that the castaways, every
eye eloquent with gratitude, made ready to welcome the
boat that would be sent to save them. But this ship also
drove on, and left these men staring their unutterable sur
prise and dismay into each other's ashen faces. Late in
the day, still another ship came up out of the distance, but
the men noted with a pang that her course was one which
would not bring her nearer. Their remnant of life was
nearly spent ; their lips and tongues were swollen, parched,
cracked with eight days' thirst ; their bodies starved ; and
here was their last chance gliding relentlessly from them ;
they would not be alive when the next sun rose. For a day
or two past the men had lost their voices, but now Captain
Rounceville whispered, "Let us pray," The Portuguese

225

patted him on the shoulder in sign of deep approval. All
knelt at the base of the oar that was waving the signal-coat
aloft, and bowed their heads. The sea was tossing ; the
sun rested, a red, rayless disk, on the sea-line in the west.
When the men presently raised their heads they would have
roared a hallelujah if they had had a voice : the ship's sails
lay wrinkled and flapping against her masts — she was going
about ! Here was rescue at last, and in the very last in
stant of time that was left for it. No, not rescue yet —
only the imminent prospect of it. The red disk sank un
der the sea, and darkness blotted out the ship. By-and-by
came a pleasant sound — oars moving in a boat's rowlocks.
Nearer it came, and nearer — within thirty steps, but noth
ing visible. Then a deep voice : " Hol-/<? /" The casta
ways could not answer ; their swollen tongues refused
voice. The boat skirted round and round the raft, started
away— the agony of it ! — returned, rested the oars, close at
hand, listening, no doubt. The deep voice again : " Hoi-/?/
Where are ye, shipmates ?" Captain Rounceville whispered
to his' men, saying: "Whisper your best, boys! now — all at
once !" So they sent out an eightfold whisper in hoarse
concert : " Here !" There was life in it if it succeeded ;
death if it failed. After that supreme moment Captain
Rounceville was conscious of nothing until he came to him
self on board the saving ship. Said the Reverend, con
cluding —

" There was one little moment of time in which that raft
could be visible from that ship, and only one. If that one
little fleeting moment had passed unfruitful, those men's
doom was sealed. As close as that does God shave events
foreordained from the beginning of the world. When the
sun reached the water's edge that day, the captain of that
ship was sitting on deck reading his prayer-book. The
book fell; he stooped to pick it up, and happened to

226

glance at the sun. In that instant that far-off raft ap
peared for a second against the red disk, its needle -like
oar and diminutive signal cut sharp and black against the
bright surface, and in the next instant was thrust away
into the dusk again. But that ship, that captain, and that
^ pregnant instant had had their work appointed for them in
the dawn of time and could not fail of the performance.
The chronometer of God never errs !"

There was deep, thoughtful silence for some moments.
Then the grave, pale young man said —

"What is the chronometer of God?"

AT dinner, six o'clock, the same people assembled whom
we nad talked with on deck and seen at luncheon and
breakfast this second day out, and at dinner the evening
before. That is to say, three journeying ship - masters, a
Boston merchant, and a returning Bermudian who had been
absent from his Bermuda thirteen years ; these sat on the
starboard side. On the port side sat the Reverend in the
seat of honor , the pale young man next to him ; I next ;
next to me an aged Bermudian, returning to his sunny
islands after an absence of twenty-seven years. Of course
our captain was at the head of the table, the purser at
the foot of it. A small company, but small companies are
pleasantest.

No racks upon the table ; the sky cloudless, the sun
brilliant, the blue sea scarcely ruffled : then what had be
come of the four married couples, the three bachelors,
and the active and obliging doctor from the rural districts
of Pennsylvania ? — for all these were on deck when we
sailed down New York harbor. This is the explanation. I
quote from my note-book : —

Thursday, 3.30 P.M. Under way, passing the Battery. The large
party, of four married couples, three bachelors, and a cheery, exhila
rating doctor from the wilds of Pennsylvania, are evidently travelling
together. All but the doctor grouped in camp-chairs on deck.

Passing principal fort. The doctor is one of those people who has an
infallible preventive of sea-sickness ; is flitting from friend to friend ad
ministering it and saying, " Don't you be afraid ; I know this medicine ;

228

absolutely infallible ; prepared under my own supervision." Takes a
dose himself, intrepidly.

4.15 P.M. Two of those ladies have struck their colors, notwith
standing the "infallible." They have gone below. The other two
begin to show distress.

5 P.M. Exit one husband and one bachelor. These still had their
infallible in cargo when they started, but arrived at the companion-
way without it.

5.10. Lady No. 3, two bachelors, and one married man have gone
below with their own opinion of the infallible.

5.20. Passing Quarantine Hulk. The infallible has done the busi
ness for all the party except the Scotchman's wife and the author of that
formidable remedy.

Nearing the Light-Ship. Exit the Scotchman's wife, head drooped
on stewardess's shoulder.

Entering the open sea. Exit doctor !

The rout seems permanent ; hence the smallness of the
company at table since the voyage began. Our captain is
a grave, handsome Hercules of thirty -five, with a brown
hand of such majestic size that one cannot eat for admir
ing it and wondering if a single kid or calf could furnish
material for gloving it.

Conversation not general ; drones along between couples.
One catches a sentence here and there. Like this, from
Bermudian of thirteen years' absence : " It is the nature
of women to ask trival, irrelevant, and pursuing questions
— questions that pursue you from a beginning in nothing to
a run-to-cover in nowhere." Reply of Bermudian of twenty-
seven years' absence : " Yes ; and to think they have logi
cal, analytical minds and argumentative ability. You see
'em begin to whet up whenever they smell argument in the
air." Plainly these be philosophers.

Twice since we left port our engines have stopped for a
couple of minutes at a time. Now they stop again. Says
the pale young man, meditatively, "There! — that engineer
is sitting down to rest again,"

229

Grave stare from the captain, whose mighty jaws cease
to work, and whose harpooned potato stops in mid-air on
its way to his open, paralyzed mouth. Presently he says
in measured tones, " Is it your idea that the engineer of
this ship propels her by a crank turned by his own hands ?"

The pale young man studies over this a moment, then
lifts up his guileless eyes, and says, " Don't he ?"

Thus gently falls the death-blow to further conversation,
and the dinner drags to its close in a reflective silence, dis
turbed by no sounds but the murmurous wash of the sea
and the subdued clash of teeth.

After a smoke and a promenade on deck, where is no
motion to discompose our steps, we think of a game of
whist. We ask the brisk and capable stewardess from
Ireland if there are any cards in the ship.

" Bless your soul, dear, indeed there is. Not a whole
pack, true for ye, but not enough missing to signify."

However, I happened by accident to bethink me a new
pack in a morocco case, in my trunk, which I had placed
there by mistake, thinking it to be a flask of something.
So a party of us conquered the tedium of the evening with
a few games and were ready for bed at six bells, manner's
time, the signal for putting out the lights.

There was much chat in the smoking-cabin on the upper
deck after luncheon to-day, mostly whaler yarns from those
old sea-captains. Captain Tom Bowling was garrulous.
He had that garrulous attention to minor detail which is
born of secluded farm life or life at sea on long voyages,
where there is little to do and time no object. He would
sail along till he was right in the most exciting part of a
yarn, and then say, " Well, as I was saying, the rudder was
fouled, ship driving before the gale, head-on, straight for
the iceberg, all hands holding their breath, turned to stone,
top-hamper giving 'way, sails blown to ribbons, first one

23Q

stick going, then another, boom ! smash ! crash ! duck your
head and stand from under ! when up comes Johnny
Rogers, capstan bar in hand, eyes a-blazing, hair a-flying
. . . no, 'twa'n't Johnny Rogers . . . lemme see . . . seems
to me Johnny Rogers wa'n't along that voyage; he was
along one voyage, I know that mighty well, but somehow it
seems to me that he signed the articles for this voyage, but
— but — whether he come along or not, or got left, or some
thing happened — "

And so on and so on, till the excitement all cooled down
and nobody cared whether the ship struck the iceberg or not.

In the course of his talk he rambled into a criticism
upon New England degrees of merit in ship-building. Said
he, " You get a vessel built away down Maine-way ; Bath,
for instance ; what's the result ? First thing you do, you
want to heave her down for repairs — thafs the result ! Well,
sir, she hain't been hove down a week till you can heave a
dog through her seams. You send that vessel to sea, and
what's the result? She wets her oakum the first trip!
Leave it to any man if 'tain't so. Well, you let our folks
build you a vessel — down New Bedford-way. What's the
result ? Well, sir, you might take that ship and heave her
down, and keep her hove down six months, and she'll never
shed a tear !"

Everybody, landsmen and all, recognized the descriptive
neatness of that figure, and applauded, which greatly pleased
the old man. A moment later, the meek eyes of the pale
young fellow heretofore mentioned came up slowly, rested
upon the old man's face a moment, and the meek mouth
began to open.

" Shet your head !" shouted the old mariner.

It was a rather startling surprise to everybody, but it was
effective in the matter of its purpose. So the conversation
flowed on instead of perishing.

231

There was some talk about the perils of the sea, and a
landsman delivered himself of the customary nonsense about
the poor manner wandering in far oceans, tempest-tossed,
pursued by dangers, every storm-blast and thunder-bolt in
the home skies moving the friends by snug firesides to com
passion for that poor mariner, and prayers for his succor.
Captain Bowling put up with this for a while, and then burst
out with a new view of the matter.

" Come, belay there ! I have read this kind of rot all my
life in poetry and tales and such like rubbage. Pity for the
poor mariner! sympathy for the poor mariner! All right
enough, but not in the way the poetry puts it. Pity for
the mariner's wife ! all right again, but not in the way the
poetry puts it. Look-a-here ! whose life's the safest in the
whole world? The poor mariner's. You look at the statis
tics, you'll see. So don't you fool away any sympathy on
the poor mariner's dangers and privations and sufferings.
Leave that to the poetry muffs. Now you look at the other
side a minute. Here is Captain Brace, forty years old,
been at sea thirty. On his way now to take command of
his ship and sail south from Bermuda. Next week he'll be
under way : easy times ; comfortable quarters ; passengers,
sociable company ; just enough to do to keep his mind
healthy and not tire him ; king over his ship, boss of every
thing and everybody ; thirty years' safety to learn him
that his profession ain't a dangerous one. Now you look
back at his home. His wife's a feeble woman ; she's a
stranger in New York ; shut up in blazing hot or freezing
cold lodgings, according to the season ; don't know any
body hardly ; no company but her lonesomeness and her
thoughts ; husband gone six months at a time. She has
borne eight children ; five of them she has buried without
her husband ever setting eyes on them. She watched
them all the long nights till they died — he comfortable on

the sea ; she followed them to the grave, she heard the
clods fall that broke her heart — he comfortable on the sea;
she mourned at home, weeks and weeks, missing them ev
ery day and every hour — he cheerful at sea, knowing noth'
ing about it. Now look at it a minute — turn it over in
your mind and size it : five children born, she among stran
gers, and him not by to hearten her; buried, and him not
by to comfort her; think of that ! Sympathy for the poor
manner's perils is rot ; give it to his wife's hard lines,
where it belongs ! Poetry makes out that all the wife wor
ries about is the dangers her husband's running. She's
got substantialer things to worry over, I tell you. Poetry's
always pitying the poor mariner on account of his perils at
sea ; better a blamed sight pity him for the nights he can't
sleep for thinking of how he had to leave his wife in her
very birth pains, lonesome and friendless, in the thick of
disease and trouble and death. If there's one thing that
can make me madder than another, it's this sappy, damned
maritime poetry!"

Captain Brace was a patient, gentle, seldom -speaking
man, with a pathetic something in his bronzed face that
had been a mystery up to this time, but stood interpreted
now, since we had heard his story. He had voyaged eigh
teen times to the Mediterranean, seven times to India, once
to the arctic pole in a discovery-ship, and "between times "
had visited all the remote seas and ocean corners of the
globe. But he said that twelve years ago, on account of
his family, he "settled down," and ever since then had
ceased to roam. And what do you suppose was this simple-
hearted, life-long wanderer's idea of settling down and ceas
ing to roam ? Why, the making of two five-month voyages a
year between Surinam and Boston for sugar and molasses !

Among other talk, to-day, it came out that whale-ships
carry no doctor. The captain adds the doctorship to his

233

own duties. He not only gives medicines, but sets broken
limbs after notions of his own, or saws them off and sears
the stump when amputation seems best. The captain is
provided with a medicine-chest, with the medicines num
bered instead of named. A book of directions goes with
this. It describes diseases and symptoms, and says, "Give
a teaspoonful of No. 9 once an hour," or " Give ten grains
of No. 12 every half -hour," etc. One of our sea-captains
came across a skipper in the North Pacific who was in a
state of great surprise and perplexity. Said he —

"There's something rotten about this medicine-chest
business. One of my men was sick — nothing much the
matter. I looked in the book : it said, give him a tea-
spoonful of No. 15. I went to the medicine- chest, and I
see I was out of No. 15. I judged I'd got to get up a com
bination somehow that would fill the bill ; so I hove into
the fellow half a teaspoonful of No. 8 and half a teaspoon
ful of No. 7, and I'll be hanged if it didn't kill him in fif
teen minutes ! There's something about this medicine-
chest system that's too many for me !"

There was a good deal of pleasant gossip about old Cap
tain " Hurricane " Jones, of the Pacific Ocean — peace to
his ashes ! Two or three of us present had known him ; I,
particularly well, for I had made four sea-voyages with
him. He was a very remarkable man. He was born in a
ship ; he picked up what little education he had among his
shipmates ; he began life in the forecastle, and climbed
grade by grade to the captaincy. More than fifty years of
his sixty-five were spent at sea. He had sailed all oceans,
seen all lands, and borrowed a tint from all climates.
When a man has been fifty years at sea he necessarily
knows nothing of men, nothing of the world but its surface,
nothing of the world's thought, nothing of the world's
learning but its ABC, and that blurred and distorted by

the unfocused lenses of an untrained mind. Such a man
is only a gray and bearded child. That is what old Hurri
cane Jones was — simply an innocent, lovable old infant.
When his spirit was in repose he was as sweet and gentle
as a girl ; when his wrath was up he was a hurricane that
made his nickname seem tamely descriptive. He was for
midable in a fight, for he was of powerful build and daunt
less courage. He was frescoed from head to heel with
pictures and mottoes tattooed in red and blue India ink.
I was with him one voyage when he got his last vacant
space tattooed ; this vacant space was around his left ankle.
During three days he stumped about the ship with his ankle
bare and swollen, and this legend gleaming red and angry
out from a clouding of India ink : "Virtue is its own R'd."
(There was a lack of room.) He was deeply and sincerely
pious, and swore like a fish-woman. He considered swear
ing blameless, because sailors would not understand an
order unillumined by it. He was a profound biblical
scholar — that is, he thought he was. He believed every
thing in the Bible, but he had his own methods of arriv
ing at his beliefs. He was of the "advanced" school of
thinkers, and applied natural laws to the interpretation of
all miracles, somewhat on the plan of the people who make
the six days of creation six geological epochs, and so forth.
Without being aware of it, he was a rather severe satire on
modern scientific religionists. Such a man as I have been
describing is rabidly fond of disquisition and argument ;
one knows that without being told it.

One trip the captain had a clergyman on board, but did
not know he was a clergyman, since the passenger list did
not betray the fact. He took a great liking to this Rev.
Mr. Peters, and talked with him a great deal: told him
yarns, gave him toothsome scraps of personal history, and
wove a glittering streak of profanity through his garrulous

235

fabric that was refreshing to a spirit weary of the dull neu
tralities of undecorated speech. One day the captain said,
"Peters, do you ever read the Bible?"

"Well— yes."

" I judge it ain't often, by the way you say it. Now, you
tackle it in dead earnest once, and you'll find it '11 pay.
Don't you get discouraged, but hang right on. First, you
won't understand it; but by-and-by things will begin to
clear up, and then you wouldn't lay it down to eat."

"Yes, I have heard that said."

"And it's so, too. There ain't a book that begins with
it. It lays over 'm all, Peters. There's some pretty tough
things in it, — there ain't any getting around that, — but you
stick to them and think them out, and when once you get
on the inside everything's plain as day."

" The miracles, too, captain ?"

" Yes, sir ! the miracles, too. Every one of them. Now,
there's that business with the prophets of Baal ; like enough
that stumped you ?"

"Well, I don't know but—"

" Own up, now ; it stumped you. Well, I don't wonder.
You hadn't had any experience in ravelling such things out,
and naturally it was too many for you. Would you like to
have me explain that thing to you, and show you how to
get at the meat of these matters?"

" Indeed, I would, captain, if you don't mind."

Then the captain proceeded as follows : " I'll do it with
pleasure. First, you see, I read and read, and thought and
thought, till I got to understand what sort of people they
were in the old Bible times, and then after that it was all
clear and easy. Now, this was the way I put it up, con
cerning Isaac* and the prophets of Baal. There was some

*This is the captain's own mistake.

236

mighty sharp men amongst the public characters of that old
ancient day, and Isaac was one of them. Isaac had his
failings, — plenty of them, too ; it ain't for me to apologize
for Isaac ; he played it on the prophets of Baal, and like
enough he was justifiable, considering the odds that was
against him. No, all I say is, 'twa'n't any miracle, and
that I'll show you so's't you can see it yourself.

"Well, times had been getting rougher and rougher
for prophets, — that is, prophets of Isaac's denomination.
There was four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal in the
community, and only one Presbyterian ; that is, if Isaac
was a Presbyterian, which I reckon he was, but it don't
say. Naturally, the prophets of Baal took all the trade.
Isaac was pretty low-spirited, I reckon, but he was a good
deal of a man, and no doubt he went a-prophesying around,
letting on to be doing a land -office business, but 'twa'n't
any use ; he couldn't run any opposition to amount to any
thing. By-and-by things got desperate with him ; he sets
his head to work and thinks it all out, and then what does
he do ? Why, he begins to throw out hints that the other
parties are this and that and t'other, — nothing very definite,
maybe, but just kind of undermining their reputation in
a quiet way. This made talk, of course, and finally got
to the king. The king asked Isaac what he meant by his
talk. Says Isaac, ' Oh, nothing particular ; only, can they
pray down fire from heaven on an altar ? It ain't much,
maybe, your majesty, only can they do it ? That's the idea.'
So the king was a good deal disturbed, and he went to
the prophets of Baal, and they said, pretty airy, that if he
had an altar ready, they were ready ; and they intimated he
better get it insured, too.

" So next morning all the children of Israel and their
parents and the other people gathered themselves together.
Well, here was that great crowd of prophets of Baal packed

237

together on one side, and Isaac walking up and down all
alone on the other, putting up his job. When time was
called, Isaac let on to be comfortable and indifferent ; told
the other team to take the first innings. So they went at it,
the whole four hundred and fifty, praying around the altar,
very hopeful, and doing their level best. They prayed an
hour, — two hours, — three hours, — and so on, plumb till
noon. It wa'n't any use ; they hadn't took a trick. Of
course they felt kind of ashamed before all those people,
and well they might. Now, what would a magnanimous
man do ? Keep still, wouldn't he ? Of course. What did
Isaac do? He gravelled the prophets of Baal every way
he could think of. Says he, ' You don't speak up loud
enough; your god's asleep, like enough, or maybe he's
taking a walk ; you want to holler, you know,' — or words to
that effect ; I don't recollect the exact language. Mind, I
don't apologize for Isaac; he had his faults.

" Well, the prophets of Baal prayed along the best they
knew how all the afternoon, and never raised a spark. At
last, about sundown, they were all tuckered out, arid they
owned up and quit.

"What does Isaac do, now? He steps up and says to
some friends of his, there, ' Pour four barrels of water on
the altar !' Everybody was astonished ; for the other side
had prayed at it dry, you know, and got whitewashed.
They poured it on. Says he, ' Heave on four more barrels.'
Then he says, ' Heave on four more.' Twelve barrels, you
see, altogether. The water ran all over the altar, and all
down the sides, and filled up a trench around it that would
hold a couple of hogsheads, — * measures,' it says ; I reckon
it means about a hogshead. Some of the people were
going to put on their things and go, for they allowed he
was crazy. They didn't know Isaac. Isaac knelt down
and began to pray: he strung along, and strung along,

x6xs

about the heathen in distant lands, and about the sister
churches, and about the state and the country at large, and
about those that's in authority in. the government, and all
the usual programme, you know, till everybody had got
tired and gone to thinking about something else, and then,
all of a sudden, when nobody was noticing, he outs with a
match and rakes it on the under side of his leg, and pff !
up the whole thing blazes like a house afire ! Twelve
barrels of water ? Petroleum, sir, PETROLEUM ! that's what
it was !"

" Petroleum, captain ?"

"Yes, sir; the country was full of it. Isaac knew all
about that. You read the Bible. Don't you worry about
the tough places. They ain't tough when you come to
think them out and throw light on them. There ain't a
thing in the Bible but what is true ; all you want is to go
prayerfully to work and cipher out how 't was done."

At eight o'clock on the third morning out from New
York, land was sighted. Away across the sunny waves one
saw a faint dark stripe stretched along under the horizon,
— or pretended to see it, for the credit of his eyesight.
Even the Reverend said he saw it, a thing which was mani
festly not so. But I never have seen any one who was
morally strong enough to confess that he could not see land
when others claimed that they could.

By-and-by the Bermuda Islands were easily visible. The
principal one lay upon the water in the distance, a long,
dull-colored body, scalloped with slight hills and valleys.
We could not go straight at it, but had to travel all the way
around it, sixteen miles from shore, because it is fenced
with an invisible coral reef. At last we sighted buoys, bob
bing here and there, and then we glided into a narrow
channel among them, " raised the reef," and came upon
shoaling blue water that soon further shoaled into pale

239

green, with a surface scarcely rippled. Now came the resur
rection hour: the berths gave up their dead. Who are
these pale spectres in plug hats and silken flounces that file
up the companion-way in melancholy procession and step
upon the deck ? These are they which took the infallible
preventive of sea-sickness in New York harbor and then
disappeared and were forgotten. Also there came two or
three faces not seen before until this moment. One's im
pulse is to ask, " Where did you come aboard ?"

We followed the narrow channel a long time, with land
on both sides, — low hills that might have been green and
grassy, but had a faded look instead. However, the land
locked water was lovely, at any rate, with its glittering belts
of blue and green where moderate soundings were, and its
broad splotches of rich brown where the rocks lay near
the surface. Everybody was feeling so well that even the
grave, pale young man (who, by a sort of kindly common
consent, had come latterly to be referred to as " the Ass ")
received frequent and friendly notice, — which was right
enough, for there was no harm in him.

At last we steamed between two island points whose
rocky jaws allowed only just enough room for the vessel's
body, and now before us loomed Hamilton on her clustered
hill-sides and summits, the whitest mass of terraced archi
tecture that exists in the world, perhaps.

It was Sunday afternoon, and on the pier were gathered
one or two hundred Bermudians, half of them black, half
of them white, and all of them nobbily dressed, as the poet
says.

Several boats came off to the ship, bringing citizens.
One of these citizens was a faded, diminutive old gentle
man, who approached our most ancient passenger with a
childlike joy in his twinkling eyes, halted before him, folded
his arms, and said, smiling with all his might and with ail

240

the simple delight that was in him, "You don't know me,
John ! Come, out with it, now ; you know you don't !"

The ancient passenger scanned him perplexedly, scanned
the napless, threadbare costume of venerable fashion that
had done Sunday service no man knows how many years,
contemplated the marvellous stove-pipe hat of still more
ancient and venerable pattern, with its poor pathetic old
stiff brim canted up " gallusly " in the wrong places, and
said, with a hesitation that indicated strong internal effort
to " place " the gentle old apparition, " Why ... let me
see . . . plague on it ... there's something about you that
. . . er . . . er . . . but I've been gone from Bermuda for
twenty-seven years, and . . . hum, hum ... I don't seem
to get at it, somehow, but there's something about you that
is just as familiar to me as — "

" Likely it might be his hat," murmured the Ass, with in
nocent, sympathetic interest.

Ill

So the Reverend and I had at last arrived at Hamilton,
the principal town in the Bermuda Islands. A wonderfully
white town ; white as snow itself. White as marble ; white
as flour. Yet looking like none of these, exactly. Never
mind, we said ; we shall hit upon a figure by-and-by that
will describe this peculiar white.

It was a town that was compacted together upon the sides
and tops of a cluster of small hills. Its outlying borders
fringed off and thinned away among the cedar forests, and
there was no woody distance of curving coast, or leafy islet
sleeping upon the dimpled, painted sea, but was flecked
with shining white points — half- concealed houses peeping
out of the foliage. The architecture of the town was
mainly Spanish, inherited from the colonists of two hun
dred and fifty years ago. Some ragged - topped cocoa-
palms, glimpsed here and there, gave the land a tropical
aspect.

There was an ample pier of heavy masonry ; upon this,
under shelter, were some thousands of barrels containing
that product which has carried the fame of Bermuda to
many lands, the potato. With here and there an onion.
That last sentence is facetious ; for they grow at least two
onions in Bermuda to one potato. The onion is the pride
and joy of Bermuda. It is her jewel, her gem of gems. In
her conversation, her pulpit, her literature, it is her most
frequent and eloquent figure. In Bermudian metaphor it
stands for perfection— perfection absolute.

242

The Bermudian weeping over the departed exhausts praise
when he says, " He was an onion !" The Bermudian ex-
tolling the living hero bankrupts applause when he says,
" He is an onion !" The Bermudian setting his son upon
the stage of life to dare and do for himself climaxes all
counsel, supplication, admonition, comprehends all ambi
tion, when he says, " Be an onion !"

When parallel with the pier, and ten or fifteen steps out
side it, we anchored. It was Sunday, bright and sunny.
The groups upon the pier — men, youths, and boys — were
whites and blacks in about equal proportion. All were
well and neatly dressed, many of them nattily, a few of
them very stylishly. One would have to travel far before
he would find another town of twelve thousand inhabitants
that could represent itself so respectably, in the matter of
clothes, on a freight-pier, without premeditation or effort.
The women and young girls, black and white, who occa
sionally passed by, were nicely clad, and many were ele
gantly and fashionably so. The men did not affect summer
clothing much, but the girls and women did, and their white
garments were good to look at, after so many months of fa
miliarity with sombre colors.

Around one isolated potato barrel stood four young gen
tlemen, two black, two white, becomingly dressed, each with
the head of a slender cane pressed against his teeth, and
each with a foot propped up on the barrel. Another young
gentleman came up, looked longingly at the barrel, but saw
no rest for his foot there, and turned pensively away to seek
another barrel. He wandered here and there, but without
result. Nobody sat upon a barrel, as is the custom of the
idle in other lands, yet all the isolated barrels were humanly
occupied. Whosoever had a foot to spare put it on a bar
rel, if all the places on it were not already taken. The hab
its of all peoples are determined by their circumstances.

243

The Bermudians lean upon barrels because of the scarcity
of lamp-posts.

Many citizens came on board and spoke eagerly to the
officers — inquiring about the Turco-Russian war news, I
supposed. However, by listening judiciously I found that
this was not so. They said, " What is the price of onions ?"
or, " How's onions ?" Naturally enough this was their first
interest ; but they dropped into the war the moment it was
satisfied.

We went ashore and found a novelty of a pleasant nat
ure : there were no hackmen, hacks, or omnibuses on the
pier or about it anywhere, and nobody offered his services
to us, or molested us in any way. I said it was like being
in heaven. The Reverend rebukingly and rather pointedly
advised me to make the most of it, then. We knew of a
boarding-house, and what we needed now was somebody
to pilot us to it. Presently a little barefooted colored boy
came along, whose raggedness was conspicuously un-Bermu-
dian. His rear was so marvellously bepatched with colored
squares and triangles that one was half persuaded he had
got it out of an atlas. When the sun struck him right, he
was as good to follow as a lightning-bug. We hired him
and dropped into his wake. He piloted us through one
picturesque street after another, and in due course deposit
ed us where we belonged. He charged nothing for his
map, and but a trifle for his services ; so the Reverend
doubled it. The little chap received the money with a
beaming applause in his eye which plainly said, " This
man's an onion !"

We had brought no letters of introduction ; our names
had been misspelt in the passenger list; nobody knew
whether we were honest folk or otherwise. So we were ex
pecting to have a good private time in case there was noth
ing in our general aspect to close boarding-house doors

244

against us. We had no trouble. Bermuda has had but
little experience of rascals, and is not suspicious. We got
large, cool, well-lighted rooms on a second floor, overlook
ing a bloomy display of flowers and flowering shrubs, —
calla and annunciation lilies, lantanas, heliotrope, jessa
mine, roses, pinks, double geraniums, oleanders, pomegran
ates, blue morning-glories of a great size, and many plants
that were unknown to me.

We took a long afternoon walk, and soon found out that
that exceedingly white town was built of blocks of white
coral. Bermuda is a coral island, with a six-inch crust of
soil on top of it, and every man has a quarry on his own
premises. Everywhere you go you see square recesses cut
into the hill-sides, with perpendicular walls unmarred by
crack or crevice, and perhaps you fancy that a house grew
out of the ground there, and has been removed in a single
piece from the mould. If you do, you err. But the mate
rial for a house has been quarried there. They cut right
down through the coral, to any depth that is convenient —
ten to twenty feet — and take it out in great square blocks.
This cutting is done with a chisel that has a handle twelve
or fifteen feet long, and is used as one uses a crowbar when
he is drilling a hole, or a dasher when he is churning.
Thus soft is this stone. Then with a common handsaw
they saw the great blocks into handsome, huge bricks that
are two feet long, a foot wide, and about six inches thick.
These stand loosely piled during a month to harden ; then
the work of building begins. The house is built of these
blocks ; it is roofed with broad coral slabs an inch thick,
whose edges lap upon each other, so that the roof looks like
a succession of shallow steps or terraces ; the chimneys are
built of the coral blocks, and sawed into graceful and pict
uresque patterns ; the ground-floor veranda is paved with
coral blocks ; also the walk to the gate ; the fence is built

245

of coral blocks — built in massive panels, with broad cap
stones and heavy gate-posts, and the whole trimmed into
easy lines and comely shape with the saw. Then they put
a hard coat of whitewash, as thick as your thumb nail, on
the fence and all over the house, roof, chimneys, and all ;
the sun comes out and shines on this spectacle, and it is
time for you to shut your unaccustomed eyes, lest they be
put out. It is the whitest white you can conceive of, and
the blindingest. A Bermuda house does not look like mar
ble ; it is a much intenser white than that ; and besides,
there is a dainty, indefinable something else about its look
that is not marble-like. We put in a great deal of solid
talk and reflection over this matter of trying to find a figure
that would describe the unique white of a Bermuda house,
and we contrived to hit upon it at last. It is exactly the
white of the icing of a cake, and has the same unemphasized
and scarcely perceptible polish. The white of marble is
modest and retiring compared with it.

After the house is cased in its hard scale of whitewash,
not a crack, or sign of a seam, or joining of the blocks is
detectable, from base-stone to chimney - top ; the building
looks as if it had been carved from a single block of stone,
and the doors and windows sawed out afterwards. A white-
marble house has a cold, tomb-like, unsociable look, and
takes the conversation out of a body and depresses him.
Not so with a Bermuda house. There is something ex
hilarating, even hilarious, about its vivid whiteness when the
sun plays upon it. If it be of picturesque shape and grace
ful contour — and many of the Bermudian dwellings are — it
will so fascinate you that you will keep your eyes on it until
they ache. One of those clean-cut, fanciful chimneys — too
pure and white for this world — with one side glowing in
the sun and the other touched with a soft shadow, is an
object that will charm one's gaze by the hour. I knovy

246

of no other country that has chimneys worthy to be gazed
at and gloated over. One of those snowy houses, half
concealed and half glimpsed through green foliage, is a
pretty thing to see ; and if it takes one by surprise and
suddenly, as he turns a sharp corner of a country road, it
will wring an exclamation from him, sure.

Wherever you go, in town or country, you find those
snowy houses, and always with masses of bright -colored
flowers about them, but with no vines climbing their walls;
vines cannot take hold of the smooth, hard whitewash.
Wherever you go, in the town or along the country roads,
among little potato farms and patches or expensive country-
seats, these stainless white dwellings, gleaming out from
flowers and foliage, meet you at every turn. The least
little bit of a cottage is as white and blemishless as the
stateliest mansion. Nowhere is there dirt or stench, puddle
or hog-wallow, neglect, disorder, or lack of trimness and
neatness. The roads, the streets, the dwellings, the people,
the clothes, — this neatness extends to everything that falls
under the eye. It is the tidiest country in the world. And
very much the tidiest, too.

Considering these things, the question came up, Where
do the poor live ? No answer was arrived at. Therefore,
we agreed to leave this conundrum for future statesmen to
wrangle over.

What a bright and startling spectacle one of those blaz
ing white country palaces, with its brown- tinted window
caps and ledges, and green shutters, and its wealth of
caressing flowers and foliage, would be in black London !
And what a gleaming surprise it would be in nearly any
American city one could mention, too !

Bermuda roads are made by cutting down a few inches
into the solid white coral — or a good many feet, where a
hill intrudes itself — and smoothing off the surface of the

247

road-bed. It is a simple and easy process. The grain of
the coral is coarse and porous ; the road-bed has the look
of being made of coarse white sugar. Its excessive clean
ness and whiteness are a trouble in one way : the sun is
reflected into your eyes with such energy as you walk
along that you want to sneeze all the time. Old Captain
Tom Bowling found another difficulty. He joined us in
our walk, but kept wandering unrestfully to the roadside.
Finally he explained. Said he, " Well, I chew, you know,
and the road's so plaguy clean."

We walked several miles that afternoon in the bewilder
ing glare of the sun, the white roads, and the white build
ings. Our eyes got to paining us a good deal. By-and-
by a soothing, blessed twilight spread its cool balm around.
We looked up in pleased surprise and saw that it proceeded
from an intensely black negro who was going by. We an
swered his military salute in the grateful gloom of his near
presence, and then passed on into the pitiless white glare
again.

The colored women whom we met usually bowed and
spoke \ so did the children. The colored men commonly
gave the military salute. They borrow this fashion from
the soldiers, no doubt ; England has kept a garrison here
for generations. The younger men's custom of carrying
small canes is also borrowed from the soldiers, I suppose,
who always carry a cane, in Bermuda as everywhere else
in Britain's broad dominions.

The country roads curve and wind hither and thither
in the delightfulest way, unfolding pretty surprises at every
turn : billowy masses of oleander that seem to float out
from behind distant projections like the pink cloud-banks of
sunset; sudden plunges among cottages and gardens, life
and activity, followed by as sudden plunges into the sombre
twilight and stillness of the woods ; flitting visions of white

248

fortresses and beacon towers pictured against the sky on
remote hill-tops ; glimpses of shining green sea caught for
a moment through opening headlands, then lost again;
more woods and solitude ; and by-and-by another turn lays
bare, without warning, the full sweep of the inland ocean,
enriched with its bars of soft color, and graced with its
wandering sails.

Take any road you please, you may depend upon it you
will not stay in it half a mile. Your road is everything
that a road ought to be: it is bordered with trees, and
with strange plants and flowers; it is shady and pleasant,
or sunny and still pleasant ; it carries you by the prettiest
and peacefulest and most home-like of homes, and through
stretches of forest that lie in a deep hush sometimes, and
sometimes are alive with the music of birds; it curves
always, which is a continual promise, whereas straight roads
reveal everything at a glance and kill interest. Your road
is all this, and yet you will not stay in it half a mile,
for the reason that little seductive, mysterious roads are
always branching out from it on either hand, and as these
curve sharply also and hide what is beyond, you cannot
resist the temptation to desert your own chosen road and
explore them. You are usually paid for your trouble ; con
sequently, your walk inland always turns out to be one of
the most crooked, involved, purposeless, and interesting ex
periences a body can imagine. There is enough of variety.
Sometimes you are in the level open, with marshes thick
grown with flag-lances that are ten feet high on the one
hand, and potato and onion orchards on the other; next,
you are on a hill-top, with the ocean and the islands spread
around you ; presently the road winds through a deep cut,
shut in by perpendicular walls thirty or forty feet high,
marked with the oddest and abruptest stratum lines, sug
gestive of sudden and eccentric old upheavals, and gar-

249

nished with here and there a clinging adventurous flower,
and here and there a dangling vine; and by-and-by your
way is along the sea edge, and you may look down a
fathom or two through the transparent water and watch
the diamond-like flash and play of the light upon the rocks
and sands on the bottom until you are tired of it — if you
are so constituted as to be able to get tired of it.

You may march the country roads in maiden meditation,
fancy free, by field and farm, for no dog will plunge out at
you from unsuspected gate, with breath-taking surprise of
ferocious bark, noth withstanding it is a Christian land and a
civilized. We saw upwards of a million cats in Bermuda,
but the people are very abstemious in the matter of dogs.
Two or three nights we prowled the country far and wide,
and never once were accosted by a dog. It is a great priv
ilege to visit such a land. The cats were no offence when
properly distributed, but when piled they obstructed travel.

As we entered the edge of the town that Sunday after
noon, we stopped at a cottage to get a drink of water. The
proprietor, a middle-aged man with a good face, asked us
to sit down and rest. His dame brought chairs, and we
grouped ourselves in the shade of the trees by the door.
Mr. Smith — that was not his name, but it will answer —
questioned us about ourselves and our country, and we an
swered him truthfully, as a general thing, and questioned
him in return. It was all very simple and pleasant and so
ciable. Rural, too ; for there was a pig and a small donkey
and a hen anchored out, close at hand, by cords to their
legs, on a spot that purported to be grassy. Presently, a
woman passed along, and although she coldly said nothing
she changed the drift of our talk. Said Smith : —

" She didn't look this way, you noticed ? Well, she is
our next neighbor on one side, and there's another family
that's our next neighbors on the other side ; but there's a

general coolness all around now, and we don't speak. Yet
these three families, one generation and another, have lived
here side by side and been as friendly as weavers for a
hundred and fifty years, till about a year ago."

" Why, what calamity could have been powerful enough
to break up so old a friendship ?"

" Well, it was too bad, but it couldn't be helped. It hap
pened like this : About a year or more ago, the rats got to
pestering my place a good deal, and I set up a steel-trap in
my backyard. Both of these neighbors run considerable
to cats, and so I warned them about the trap, because
their cats were pretty sociable around here nights, and they
might get into trouble without my intending it. Well, they
shut up their cats for a while, but you know how it is with
people ; they got careless, and sure enough one night the
trap took Mrs. Jones's principal tomcat into camp and fin
ished him up. In the morning Mrs. Jones comes here with
the corpse in her arms, and cries and takes on the same as
if it was a child. It was a cat by the name of Yelverton —
Hector G. Yelverton — a troublesome old rip, with no more
principle than an Injun, though you couldn't make her be
lieve it. I said all a man could to comfort her, but no,
nothing would do but I must pay for him. Finally, I said
I warn't investing in cats now as much as I was, and with
that she walked off in a huff, carrying the remains with
her. That closed our intercourse with the Joneses. Mrs.
Jones joined another church and took her tribe with her.
She said she would not hold fellowship with assassins.
Well, by-and-by comes Mrs. Brown's turn — she that went
by here a minute ago. She had a disgraceful old yellow
cat that she thought as much of as if he was twins, and one
night he tried that trap on his neck, and it fitted him so, and
was so sort of satisfactory, that he laid down and curled up
and stayed with it. Such was the end of Sir John Baldwin."

" Was that the name of the cat ?"

" The same. There's cats around here with names that
would surprise you. Maria" (to his wife), " what was that
cat's name that eat a keg of ratsbane by mistake over at
Hooper's, and started home and got struck by lightning and
took the blind staggers and fell in the well and was most
drowned before they could fish him out ?"

" That was that colored Deacon Jackson's cat. I only
remember the last end of its name, which was Hold-The-
Fort-For-I-Am-Coming Jackson."

" Sho ! that ain't the one. That's the one that eat up an
entire box of Seidlitz powders, and then hadn't any more
judgment than to go and take a drink. He was considered
to be a great loss, but I never could see it. Well, no mat
ter about the names. Mrs. Brown wanted to be reasona
ble, but Mrs. Jones wouldn't let her. She put her up to
going to law for damages. So to law she went, and had
the face to claim seven shillings and sixpence. It made a
great stir. All the neighbors went to court. Everybody
took sides. It got hotter and hotter, and broke up all the
friendships for three hundred yards around — friendships
that had lasted for generations and generations.

" Well, I proved by eleven witnesses that the cat was of
a low character and very ornery, and warn't worth a can
celled postage - stamp, anyway, taking the average of cats
here ; but I lost the case. What could I expect ? The sys
tem is all wrong here, and is bound to make revolution and
bloodshed some day. You see, they give the magistrate a
poor little starvation salary, and then turn him loose on the
public to gouge for fees and costs to live on. What is the
natural result ? Why, he never looks into the justice of a
case — never once. All he looks at is which client has got
the money. So this one piled the fees and costs and every
thing on to me. I could pay specie, don't you see ? and

252

he knew mighty well that if he put the verdict on to Mrs.
Brown, where it belonged, he'd have to take his swag in
currency."

" Currency ? Why, has Bermuda a currency ?"

"Yes — onions. And they were forty per cent, discount,
too, then, because the season had been over as much as three
months. So I lost my case. I had to pay for that cat. But
the general trouble the case made was the worst thing about
it. Broke up so much good feeling. The neighbors don't
speak to each other now. Mrs. Brown had named a child
after me. But she changed its name right away. She is a
Baptist. Well, in the course of baptizing it over again, it
got drowned. I was hoping we might get to be friendly
again some time or other, but of course this drowning the
child knocked that all out of the question. It would have
saved a world of heart-break and ill blood if she had named
it dry."

I knew by the sigh that this was honest. All this trouble
and all this destruction of confidence in the purity of the
bench on account of a seven-shilling lawsuit about a cat !
Somehow, it seemed to " size " the country.

At this point we observed that an English flag had just
been placed at half-mast on a building a hundred yards
away. I and my friends were busy in an instant trying to
imagine whose death, among the island dignitaries, could
command such a mark of respect as this. Then a shud
der shook them and me at the same moment, and I knew
that we had jumped to one and the same conclusion :
" The governor has gone to England ; it is for the British
admiral !"

At this moment Mr. Smith noticed the flag. He said
with emotion, —

"That's on a boarding-house. I judge there's a boarder
dead."

253

A dozen other flags within view went to half-mast.
" It's a boarder, sure," said Smith.

" But would they half-mast the flags here for a boarder,
Mr. Smith?1'

" Why, certainly they would, if he was dead."
That seemed to size the country again.

17 TS

THE early twilight of a Sunday evening in Hamilton,
Bermuda, is an alluring time. There is just enough of
whispering breeze, fragrance of flowers, and sense of re
pose to raise one's thoughts heavenward ; and just enough
amateur piano music to keep him reminded of the other
place. There are many venerable pianos in Hamilton,
and they all play at twilight. Age enlarges and enriches
the powers of some musical instruments — notably those of
the violin — but it seems to set a piano's teeth on edge.
Most of the music in vogue there is the same that those
pianos prattled in their innocent infancy ; and there is
something very pathetic about it when they go over it now,
in their asthmatic second childhood, dropping a note here
and there, where a tooth is gone.

We attended evening service at the stately Episcopal
church on the hill, where were five or six hundred people,
half of them white and the other half black, according to
the usual Bermudian proportions ; and all well dressed —
a thing which is also usual in Bermuda and to be confi
dently expected. There was good music, which we heard,
and doubtless a good sermon, but there was a wonderful
deal of coughing, and so only the high parts of the argu
ment carried over it. As we came out, after service, I
overheard one young girl say to another —

" Why, you don't mean to say you pay duty on gloves
and laces ! I only pay postage ; have them done up and
sent in the Boston Advertiser."

255

There are those who believe that the most difficult thing
to create is a woman who can comprehend that it is wrong
to smuggle ; and that an impossible thing to create is a
woman who will not smuggle, whether or no, when she gets
a chance. But these may be errors.

We went wandering off toward the country, and were
soon far down in the lonely black depths of a road that
was roofed over with the dense foliage of a double rank of
great cedars. There was no sound of any kind, there; it
was perfectly still. And it was so dark that one could de
tect nothing but sombre outlines. We strode farther and
farther down this tunnel, cheering the way with chat.

Presently the chat took this shape : " How insensibly
the character of a people and of a government makes its
impress upon a stranger, and gives him a sense of security
or of insecurity without his taking deliberate thought upon
the matter or asking anybody a question ! WTe have been
in this land half a day ; we have seen none but honest
faces ; we have noted the British flag flying, which means
efficient government and good order ; so without inquiry
we plunge unarmed and with perfect confidence into this
dismal place, which in almost any other country would
swarm with thugs and garroters—

'Sh ! What was that? Stealthy footsteps ! Low voices!
We gasp, we close up together, and wait. A vague shape
glides out of the dusk and confronts us. A voice speaks —
demands money!

" A shilling, gentlemen, if you please, to help build the
new Methodist church."

Blessed sound ! Holy sound ! We contribute with thank
ful avidity to the new Methodist church, and are happy to
think how lucky it was that those little colored Sunday-
school scholars did not seize upon everything we had with
violence, before we recovered from our momentary helpless

256

condition. By the light of cigars we write down the names
of weightier philanthropists than ourselves on the contribu
tion-cards, and then pass on into the farther darkness, say
ing, What sort of a government do they call this, where
they allow little black pious children, with contribution-
cards, to plunge out upon peaceable strangers in the dark
and scare them to death ?

We prowled on several hours, sometimes by the sea
side, sometimes inland, and finally managed to get lost,
which is a feat that requires talent in Bermuda. I had on
new shoes. They were No. y's when I started, but were
not more than 5's now, and still diminishing. I walked
two hours in those shoes after that, before we reached
home. Doubtless I could have the reader's sympathy for
the asking. Many people have never had the headache or
the toothache, and I am one of those myself ; but every
body has worn tight shoes for two or three hours, and
known the luxury of taking them off in a retired place and
seeing his feet swell up and obscure the firmament. Once
when I was a callow, bashful cub, I took a plain, unsenti
mental country girl to a comedy one night. I had known
her a day ; she seemed divine ; I wore my new boots. At
the end of the first half-hour she said, " Why do you fidget
so with your feet?" I said, " Did I ?" Then I put my at
tention there and kept still. At the end of another half-
hour she said, "Why do you say, 'Yes, oh yes!' and 'Ha,
ha, oh, certainly ! very true !' to everything I say, when
half the time those are entirely irrelevant answers?" I
blushed, and explained that I had been a little absent-
minded. At the end of another half-hour she said, " Please,
why do you grin so steadfastly at vacancy, and yet look so
sad ?" I explained that I always did that when I was re
flecting. An hour passed, and then she turned and con
templated me with her earnest eyes and said, " Why do you

257

cry all the time ?" I explained that very funny comedies
always made me cry. At last human nature surrendered,
and I secretly slipped my boots off. This was a mistake.
I was not able to get them on any more. It was a rainy
night; there were no omnibuses going our way; and as I
walked home, burning up with shame, with the girl on one
arm and my boots under the other, I was an object wor
thy of some compassion — especially in those moments of
martyrdom when I had to pass through the glare that fell
upon the pavement from street lamps. Finally, this child of
the forest said, " Where are your boots ?" and being taken
unprepared, I put a fitting finish to the follies of the even
ing with the stupid remark, "The higher classes do not
wear them to the theatre."

The Reverend had been an army chaplain during the
war, and while we were hunting for a road that would lead
to Hamilton he told a story about two dying soldiers which
interested me in spite of my feet. He said that in the Po
tomac hospitals rough pine coffins were furnished by gov
ernment, but that it was not always possible to keep up
with the demand ; so, when a man died, if there was no
coffin at hand he was buried without one. One night, late,
two soldiers lay dying in a ward. A man came in with a
coffin on his shoulder, and stood trying to make up his
mind which of these two poor fellows would be likely to
need it first. Both of them begged for it with their fading
eyes — they were past talking. Then one of them pro
truded a wasted hand from his blankets and made a feeble
beckoning sign with the fingers, to signify, " Be a good fel
low ; put it under my bed, please." The man did it, and
left. The lucky soldier painfully turned himself in his bed
until he faced the other warrior, raised himself partly on
his elbow, and began to work up a mysterious expression
of some kind in his face. Gradually, irksomely, but surely

258

and steadily, it developed, and at last it took definite form
as a pretty successful wink. The sufferer fell back ex
hausted with his labor, but bathed in glory. Now entered
a personal friend of No. 2, the despoiled soldier. No. 2
pleaded with him with eloquent eyes, till presently he un
derstood, and removed the coffin from under No. I's bed
and put it under No. 2*s. No. 2 indicated his joy, and
made some more signs ; the friend understood again, and
put his arm under No. 2's shoulders and lifted him partly
up. Then the dying hero turned the dim exultation of his
eye upon No. i, and began a slow and labored work with
his hands ; gradually he lifted one hand up toward his
face ; it grew weak and dropped back again ; once more
he made the effort, but failed again. He took a rest ; he
gathered all the remnant of his strength, and this time he
slowly but surely carried his thumb to the side of his nose,
spread the gaunt fingers wide in triumph, and dropped
back dead. That picture sticks by me yet. The " situa
tion " is unique.

The next morning, at what seemed a very early hour, the
little white table-waiter appeared suddenly in my room and
shot a single word out of himself : " Breakfast !"

This was a remarkable boy in many ways. He was
about eleven years old ; he had alert, intent black eyes ; he
was quick of movement ; there was no hesitation, no un
certainty about him anywhere ; there was a military decision
in his lip, his manner, his speech, that was an astonishing
thing to see in a little chap like him ; he wasted no words ;
his answers always came so quick and brief that they
seemed to be part of the question that had been asked in
stead of a reply to it. When he stood at table with his fly-
brush, rigid, erect, his face set in a cast-iron gravity, he was
a statue till he detected a dawning want in somebody's
eye ; then he pounced down, supplied it, and was instantly

259

a statue again. When he was sent to the kitchen for any
thing, he marched upright till he got to the door ; he turned
hand-springs the rest of the way.

" Breakfast !"

I thought I would make one more effort to get some con
versation out of this being.

" Have you called the Reverend, or are — "

" Yes s'r !"

" Is it early, or is — "

"Eight-five."

" Do you have to do all the * chores,' or is there somebody
to give you a 1 — "

"Colored girl."

" Is there only one parish in this island, or are there — "

" Eight !"

" Is the big church on the hill a parish church, or is
it—"

" Chapel-of-ease !"

" Is taxation here classified into poll, parish, town, and — "

" Don't know !"

Before I could cudgel another question out of my head,
he was below> hand - springing across the backyard. He
had slid down the balusters, head-first. I gave up trying
to provoke a discussion with him. The essential element
of discussion had been left out of him ; his answers were so
final and exact that they did not leave a doubt to hang
conversation on. I suspect that there is the making of a
mighty man or a mighty rascal in this boy — according to
circumstances — but they are going to apprentice him to a
carpenter. It is the way the world uses its opportunities.

During this day and the next we took carriage drives
about the island and over to the town of St. George's, fif
teen or twenty miles away. Such hard, excellent roads to
drive over are not to be found elsewhere out of Europe.

260

An intelligent young colored man drove us, and acted as
guide-book. In the edge of the town we saw five or six
mountain-cabbage palms (atrocious name !) standing in a
straight row, and equidistant from each other. These were
not the largest or the tallest trees I have ever seen, but
they were the stateliest, the most majestic. That row of
them must be the nearest that nature has ever come to
counterfeiting a colonnade. These trees are all the same
height, say sixty feet ; the trunks as gray as granite, with a
very gradual and perfect taper ; without sign of branch or
knot or flaw ; the surface not looking like bark, but like
granite that has been dressed and not polished. Thus all
the way up the diminishing shaft for fifty feet ; then it
begins to take the appearance of being closely wrapped,
spool-fashion, with gray cord, or of having been turned in a
lathe. Above this point there is an outward swell, and
thence upwards, for six feet or more, the cylinder is a bright,
fresh green, and is formed of wrappings like those of an ear
of green Indian - corn. Then comes the great, spraying
palm plume, also green. Other palm-trees always lean out
of the perpendicular, or have a curve in them. But the
plumb-line could not detect a deflection in any individual of
this stately row; they stand as straight as the colonnade of
Baalbec ; they have its great height, they have its graceful
ness, they have its dignity ; in moonlight or twilight, and
shorn of their plumes, they would duplicate it.

The birds we came across in the country were singu
larly tame ; even that wild creature, the quail, would pick
around in the grass at ease while we inspected it and talked
about it at leisure. A small bird of the canary species
had to be stirred up with the butt-end of the whip before
it would move, and then it moved only a couple of feet.
It is said that even the suspicious flea is tame and soci
able in Bermuda, and will allow himself to be caught and

261

caressed without misgivings. This should be taken with
allowance, for doubtless there is more or less brag about it.
In San Francisco they used to claim that their native flea
could kick a child over, as if it were a merit in a flea to be
able to do that ; as if the knowledge of it trumpeted
abroad ought to entice immigration. Such a thing in nine
cases out of ten would be almost sure to deter a thinking
man from coming.

We saw no bugs or reptiles to speak of, and so I was
thinking of saying in print, in a general way, that there
were none at all ; but one night after I had gone to bed,
the Reverend came into my room carrying something, and
asked, " Is this your boot ?" I said it was, and he said he
had met a spider going off with it. Next morning he
stated that just at dawn the same spider raised his window
and was coming in to get a shirt, but saw him and fled.

I inquired, " Did he get the shirt ?''

"No."

" How did you know it was a shirt he was after?"

" I could see it in his eye."

We inquired around, but could hear of no Bermudian
spider capable of doing these things. Citizens said that
their largest spiders could not more than spread their legs
over an ordinary saucer, and that they had always been
considered honest. Here was testimony of a clergyman
against the testimony of mere worldlings — interested ones,
too. On the whole, I judged it best to lock up my things.

Here and there on the country roads we found lemon,
papaw, orange, lime, and fig trees; also several sorts of
palms, among them the cocoa, the date, and the palmetto.
We saw some bamboos forty feet high, with stems as thick
as a man's arm. Jungles of the mangrove-tree stood up
out of swamps, propped on their interlacing roots as upon
a tangle of stilts. In drier places the noble tamarind sent

262

down its grateful cloud of shade. Here and there the
blossomy tamarisk adorned the roadside. There was a
curious gnarled and twisted black tree, without a single
leaf on it. It might have passed itself off for a dead
apple-tree but for the fact that it had a star-like, red-hot
flower sprinkled sparsely over its person. It had the scat-
tery red glow that a constellation might have when glimpsed
through smoked glass. It is possible that our constella
tions have been so constructed as to be invisible through
smoked glass ; if this is so it is a great mistake.

We saw a tree that bears grapes, and just as calmly and
unostentatiously as a vine would do it. We saw an India-
rubber-tree, but out of season, possibly, so there were no
shoes on it, nor suspenders, nor anything that a person
would properly expect to find there. This gave it an im
pressively fraudulent look. There was exactly one mahog
any-tree on the island. I know this to be reliable, because
I saw a man who said he had counted it many a time and
could not be mistaken. He was a man with a harelip
and a pure heart, and everybody said he was as true as
steel. Such men are all too few.

One's eye caught near and far the pink cloud of the
oleander and the red blaze of the pomegranate blossom.
In one piece of wild wood the morning-glory vines had
wrapped the trees to their very tops, and decorated them
all over with couples and clusters of great blue bells — a
fine and striking spectacle, at a little distance. But the
dull cedar is everywhere, and is the prevailing foliage.
One does not appreciate how dull it is until the varnished,
bright green attire of the infrequent lemon-tree pleasantly
intrudes its contrast. In one thing Bermuda is eminently
tropical — was in May, at least — the unbrilliant, slightly
faded, unrejoicing look of the landscape. For forests ar
rayed in a blemishless magnificence of glowing green foli-

age that seems to exult in its own existence and can move
the beholder to an enthusiasm that will make him either
shout or cry, one must go to countries that have malignant
winters.

We saw scores of colored farmers digging their crops of
potatoes and onions, their wives and children helping —
entirely contented and comfortable, if looks go for any
thing. We never met a man, or woman, or child anywhere
in this sunny island who seemed to be unprosperous, or
discontented, or sorry about anything. This sort of mo
notony became very tiresome presently, and even something
worse. The spectacle of an entire nation grovelling in con
tentment is an infuriating thing. We felt the lack of some
thing in this community — a vague, an undennable, an elu
sive something, and yet a lack. But after considerable
thought we made out what it was — tramps. Let them go
there, right now, in a body. It is utterly virgin soil. Pas
sage is cheap. Every true patriot in America will help buy
tickets. Whole armies of these excellent beings can be
spared from our midst and our polls; they will find a de
licious climate and a green, kind-hearted people. There
are potatoes and onions for all, and a generous welcome for
the first batch that arrives, and elegant graves for the second.

It was the Early Rose potato the people were digging.
Later in the year they have another crop, which they call
the Garnet. We buy their potatoes (retail) at fifteen dol
lars a barrel; and those colored farmers buy ours for a
song, and live on them. Havana might exchange cigars
with Connecticut in the same advantageous way, if she
thought of it.

We passed a roadside grocery with a sign up, " Potatoes
Wanted." An ignorant stranger, doubtless. He could not
have gone thirty steps from his place without finding plenty
of them.

In several fields the arrowroot crop was already sprout
ing. Bermuda used to make a vast annual profit out of this
staple before fire-arms came into such general use.

The island is not large. Somewhere in the interior a
man ahead of us had a very slow horse. I suggested that
we had better go by him ; but the driver said the man had
but a little way to go. I waited to see, wondering how he
could know. Presently the man did turn down another
road. I asked, " How did you know he would ?"

" Because I knew the man, and where he lived."

I asked him, satirically, if he knew everybody in the
island; he answered, very simply, that he did. This gives
a body's mind a good substantial grip on the dimensions of
the place.

At the principal hotel in St. George's, a young girl, with a
sweet, serious face, said we could not be furnished with din
ner, because we had not been expected, and no preparation
had been made. Yet it was still an hour before dinner-time.
We argued, she yielded not ; we supplicated, she was serene.
The hotel had not been expecting an inundation of two peo
ple, and so it seemed that we should have to go home din-
nerless. I said we were not very hungry ; a fish would do.
My little maid answered, it was not the market-day for fish.
Things began to look serious ; but presently the boarder
who sustained the hotel came in, and when the case was laid
before him he was cheerfully willing to divide. So we had
much pleasant chat at table about St. George's chief indus
try, the repairing of damaged ships ; and in between we had
a soup that had something in it that seemed to taste like the
hereafter, but it proved to be only pepper of a particularly
vivacious kind. And we had an iron-clad chicken that was
deliciously cooked, but not in the right way. Baking was
not the thing to convince his sort. He ought to have been
put through a quartz mill until the " tuck " was taken out of

265

him, and then boiled till we came again. We got a good
deal of sport out of him, but not enough sustenance to leave
the victory on our side. No matter ; we had potatoes and
a pie and a sociable good time. Then a ramble through
the town, which is a quaint one, with interesting, crooked
streets, and narrow, crooked lanes, with here and there a
grain of dust. Here, as in Hamilton, the dwellings had
Venetian blinds of a very sensible pattern. They were not
double shutters, hinged at the sides, but a single broad shut
ter, hinged at the top ; you push it outward, from the bot
tom, and fasten it at any angle required by the sun or de
sired by yourself.

All about the island one sees great white scars on the hill-
slopes. These are dished spaces where the soil has been
scraped off and the coral exposed and glazed with hard
whitewash. Some of these are a quarter-acre in size. They
catch and carry the rainfall to reservoirs ; for the wells are
few and poor, and there are no natural springs and no brooks.

They say that the Bermuda climate is mild and equable,
with never any snow or ice, and that one may be very com
fortable in spring clothing the year round, there. We had
delightful and decided summer weather in May, with a flam
ing sun that permitted the thinnest of raiment, and yet there
was a constant breeze ; consequently we were never discom
forted by heat. At four or five in the afternoon the mer
cury began to go down, and then it became necessary to
change to thick garments. I went to St. George's in the
morning clothed in the thinnest of linen, and reached home
at five in the afternoon with two overcoats on. The nights
are said to be always cool and bracing. We had mosquito
nets, and the Reverend said the mosquitoes persecuted him a
good deal. I often heard him slapping and banging at these
imaginary creatures with as much zeal as if they had been
real. There are no mosquitoes in the Bermudas in May.

J66

The poet Thomas Moore spent several months in Ber
muda more than seventy years ago. He was sent out to be
registrar of the admiralty. I am not quite clear as to the
function of a registrar of the admiralty of Bermuda, but I
think it is his duty to keep a record of all the admirals
born there. I will inquire into this. There was not much
doing in admirals, and Moore got tired and went away. A
reverently preserved souvenir of him is still one of the
treasures of the islands. I gathered the idea, vaguely,
that it was a jug, but was persistently thwarted in the
twenty-two efforts I made to visit it. However, it was no
matter, for I found out afterwards that it was only a
chair.

There are several " sights " in the Bermudas, of course,
but they are easily avoided. This is a great advantage —
one cannot have it in Europe. Bermuda is the right country
for a jaded man to "loaf" in. There are no harassments ;
the deep peace and quiet of the country sink into one's
body and bones and give his conscience a rest, and chloro
form the legion of invisible small devils that are always
trying to whitewash his hair. A good many Americans go
there about the first of March and remain until the early
spring weeks have finished their villanies at home.

The Bermudians are hoping soon to have telegraphic
communication with the world. But even after they shall
have acquired this curse it will still be a good country to
go to for a vacation, for there are charming little islets
scattered about the enclosed sea where one could live se
cure from interruption. The, telegraph boy would have to
come in a boat, and one could easily kill him while he was
making his landing.

We had spent four days in Bermuda — three bright ones
out of doors and one rainy one in the house, we being dis
appointed about getting a yacht for a sail ; and now our

26?

furlough was ended, and we entered into the ship again and
sailed homeward.

Among the passengers was a most lean and lank and
forlorn invalid, whose weary look and patient eyes and sor
rowful mien awoke every one's kindly interest and stirred
every one's compassion. When he spoke — which was but
seldom — there was a gentleness in his tones that made each
hearer his friend. The second night of the voyage — we
were all in the smoking-cabin at the time — he drifted, little
by little, into the general conversation. One thing brought
on another, and so, in due course, he happened to fall into
the biographical vein, and the following strange narrative
was the result.

THE INVALID'S STORY* <

I seem sixty and married, but these effects are due to
my condition and sufferings, for I am a bachelor, and only
forty-one. It will be hard for you to believe that I, who
am now but a shadow, was a hale, hearty man two short
years ago — a man of iron, a very athlete ! — yet such is the
simple truth. But stranger still than this fact is the way
in which I lost my health. I lost it through helping to take
care of a box of guns on a two-hundred-mile railway jour
ney one winter's night. It is the actual truth, and I will
tell you about it.

I belong in Cleveland, Ohio. One winter's night, two
years ago, I reached home just after dark, in a driving
snow-storm, and the first thing I heard when I entered the
house was that my dearest boyhood friend and school-mate,
John B. Hackett, had died the day before, and that his last

* Left out of these " Rambling Notes," when originally published in
the Atlantic Monthly, because it was feared that the story was not true,
and at that time there was no way of proving that it was not. — M. T.

268

utterance had been a desire that I would take his remains
home to his poor old father and mother in Wisconsin. I
was greatly shocked and grieved, but there was no time to
waste in emotions ; I must start at once. I took the card,
marked " Deacon Levi Hackett, Bethlehem, Wisconsin,"
and hurried off through the whistling storm to the railway
station. Arrived there I found the long white -pine box
which had been described to me ; I fastened the card to it
with some tacks, saw it put safely aboard the express car,
and then ran into the eating-room to provide myself with a
sandwich and some cigars. When I returned, presently,
there was my coffin-box back again, apparently, and a young
fellow examining around it, with a card in his hand, and
some tacks and a hammer ! I was astonished and puzzled.
He began to nail on his card, and I rushed out to the ex
press car, in a good deal of a state of mind, to ask for an
explanation. But no — there was my box, all right, in the
express car; it hadn't been disturbed. [The fact is that
without my suspecting it a prodigious mistake had been
made. I was carrying off a box of guns which that young
fellow had come to the station to ship to a rifle company in
Peoria, Illinois, and he had got my corpse !] Just then the
conductor sung out " All aboard," and I jumped into the
express car and got a comfortable seat on a bale of buckets.
The expressman was there, hard at work — a plain man of
fifty, with a simple, honest, good-natured face, and a breezy,
practical heartiness in his general style. As the train
moved off a stranger skipped into the car and set a package
of peculiarly mature and capable Limburger cheese on one
end of my coffin-box — I mean my box of guns. That is to say,
I know now that it was Limburger cheese, but at that time I
never had heard of the article in my life, and of course was
wholly ignorant of its character. Well, we sped through
the wild night, the bitter storm raged on, a cheerless misery

269

stole over me, my heart went down, down, down ! The old
expressman made a brisk remark or two about the tempest
and the arctic weather, slammed his sliding doors to, and
bolted them, closed his window down tight, and then went
bustling around, here and there and yonder, setting things
to rights, and all the time contentedly humming " Sweet
By-and-by," in a low tone, and flatting a good deal. Pres
ently I began to detect a most evil and searching odor
stealing about on the frozen air. This depressed my spirits
still more, because of course I attributed it to my poor de
parted friend. There was something infinitely saddening
about his calling himself to my remembrance in this dumb,
pathetic way, so it was hard to keep the tears back. More
over, it distressed me on account of the old expressman,
who, I was afraid, might notice it. However, he went hum
ming tranquilly on, and gave no sign ; and for this I was
grateful. Grateful, yes, but still uneasy; and soon I began
to feel more and more uneasy every minute, for every min
ute that went by that odor thickened up the more, and got
to be more and more gamy and hard to stand. Present
ly, having got things arranged to his satisfaction, the ex
pressman got some wood and made up a tremendous fire in
his stove. This distressed me more than I can tell, for I
could not but feel that it was a mistake. I was sure that the
effect would be deleterious upon my poor departed friend.
Thompson — the expressman's name was Thompson, as I
found out in the course of the night — now went poking
around his car, stopping up whatever stray cracks he could
find, remarking that it didn't make any difference what kind
of a night it was outside, he calculated to make us com
fortable, anyway. I said nothing, but I believed he was not
choosing the right way. Meantime he was humming to
himself just as before ; and meantime, too, the stove was
getting hotter and hotter, and the place closer and closer.

iSTS

270

I felt myself growing pale and qualmish, but grieved in si
lence and said nothing. Soon I noticed that the " Sweet
By-and-by " was gradually fading out ; next it ceased alto
gether, and there was an ominous stillness. After a few
moments Thompson said, —

" Pfew ! I reckon it ain't no cinnamon 't I've loaded up
thish-yer stove with !"

He gasped once or twice, then moved toward the cof —
gun-box, stood over that Limburger cheese part of a mo
ment, then came back and sat down near me, looking a
good deal impressed. After a contemplative pause, he said,
indicating the box with a gesture —

" Friend of yourn ?"

" Yes," I said with a sigh.

" He's pretty ripe, ain't he !"

Nothing further was said for perhaps a couple of min
utes, each being busy with his own thoughts ; then Thomp
son said, in a low, awed voice —

" Sometimes it's uncertain whether they're really gone or
not — seem gone, you know — body warm, joints limber —
and so, although you think they're gone, you don't really
know. I've had cases in my car. It's perfectly awful, be-
cuz you don't know what minute they'll rise right up and
look at you !" Then, after a pause, and slightly lifting his
elbow toward the box — " But he ain't in no trance ! No,
sir, I go bail for him /"

We sat some time, in meditative silence, listening to the
wind and the roar of the train ; then Thompson said, with
a good deal of feeling —

" Well-a-well, we've all got to go, they ain't no getting
around it. Man that is born of woman is of few days and
far between, as Scriptur' says. Yes, you look at it any
way you want to,. it's awful solemn and cur'us : they ain't
nobody can get around it ; all's got to go — just everybody, as

271

you may say. One day you're hearty and strong" — here
he scrambled to his feet and broke a pane and stretched his
nose out at it a moment or two, then sat down again while
I struggled up and thrust my nose out at the same place,
and this we kept on doing every now and then — " and next
day he's cut down like the grass, and the places which
knowed him then knows him no more forever, as Scriptur'
says. Yes-'ndeedy, it's awful solemn and cur'us ; but we've
all got to go, one time or another ; they ain't no getting
around it."

There was another long pause ; then —

" What did he die of ?"

I said I didn't know.

" How long has he ben dead ?"

It seemed judicious to enlarge the facts to fit the proba
bilities ; so I said, —

"Two or three days."

But it did no good ; for Thompson received it with an
injured look which plainly said, "Two or three years, you
mean." Then he went right along, placidly ignoring my
statement, and gave his views at considerable length upon
the unwisdom of putting off burials too long. Then he
lounged off toward the box, stood a moment, then came
back on a sharp trot and visited the broken pane, observ
ing—

" 'Twould 'a' ben a dum sight better, all around, if they'd
started him along last summer."

Thompson sat down and buried his face in his red silk
handkerchief, and began to slowly sway and rock his body
like one who is doing his best to endure the almost un
endurable. By this time the fragrance — if you may call
it fragrance — was just about suffocating, as near as you
can come at it. Thompson's face was turning gray; I
knew mine hadn't any color left in it. By-and-by Thomp-

272

son rested his forehead in his left hand, with his elbow on
his knee, and sort of waved his red handkerchief toward
the box with his other hand, and said —

" I've carried a many a one of 'em — some of 'em consider
able overdue, too — but, lordy, he just lays over 'em all ! —
and does it easy. Cap, they was heliotrope to him /"

This recognition of my poor friend gratified me, in spite
of the sad circumstances, because it had so much the sound
of a compliment.

Pretty soon it was plain that something had got to be
done. I suggested cigars. Thompson thought it was a
good idea. He said, —

" Likely it '11 modify him some."

We puffed gingerly along for a while, and tried hard to
imagine that things were improved. But it wasn't any use.
Before very long, and without any consultation, both cigars
were quietly dropped from our nerveless fingers at the
same moment. Thompson said, with a sigh —

" No, Cap, it don't modify him worth a cent. Fact is, it
makes him worse, becuz it appears to stir up his ambition.
What do you reckon we better do, now ?"

I was not able to suggest anything ; indeed, I had to be
swallowing and swallowing, all the time, and did not like
to trust myself to speak. Thompson fell to maundering, in
a desultory and low-spirited way, about the miserable ex
periences of this night ; and he got to referring to my poor
friend by various titles — sometimes military ones, some
times civil ones ; and I noticed that as fast as my poor
friend's effectiveness grew, Thompson promoted him ac
cordingly — gave him a bigger title. Finally he said —

" I've got an idea. Suppos'n' we buckle down to it
and give the Colonel a bit of a shove towards t'other end
of the car? — about ten foot, say. He wouldn't have sq
much influence, then, don't you reckon?"

273

I said it was a good scheme. So we took in a gooA
fresh breath at the broken pane, calculating to hold it
till we got through; then we went there and bent down
over that deadly cheese and took a grip on the box.
Thompson nodded " All ready," and then we threw our
selves forward with all our might ; but Thompson slipped,
and slumped down with his nose on the cheese, and his
breath got loose. He gagged and gasped, and floundered
up and made a break for the door, pawing the air and say
ing, hoarsely, " Don't hender me ! — gimme the road ! I'm
a-dying; gimme the road !" Out on the cold platform I sat
down and held his head awhile, and he revived. Presently
he said —

" Do you reckon we started the Gen'rul any ?"

I said no ; we hadn't budged him.

" Well, then, that idea's up the flume. We got to think
up something else. He's suited wher' he is, I reckon,
and if that's the way he feels about it, and has made up
his mind that he don't wish to be disturbed, you bet you
he's a-going to have his own way in the business. Yes,
better leave him right wher' he is, long as he wants it so ;
becuz he holds all the trumps, don't you know, and so it
stands to reason that the man that lays out to alter his plans
for him is going to get left."

But we couldn't stay out there in that mad storm ; we
should have frozen to death. So we went in again and shut
the door, and began to suffer once more and take turns at
the break in the window. By-and-by, as we were starting
away from a station where we had stopped a moment
Thompson pranced in cheerily, and exclaimed —

" We're all right, now ! 1 reckon we've got the Commo
dore this time. I judge I've got the stuff here that '11 take
the tuck out of him."

It was carbolic acid. He had a carboy of it. He sprin-

274

kled it all around everywhere ; in fact he drenched every*
thing with it, rifle-box, cheese, and all. Then we sat down,
feeling pretty hopeful. But it wasn't for long. You see
the two perfumes began to mix, and then — well, pretty soon
we made a break for the door ; and out there Thompson
swabbed his face with his bandanna and said in a kind of
disheartened way —

" It ain't no use. We can't buck agin him. He just util
izes everything we put up to modify him with, and gives it
his own flavor and plays it back on us. Why, Cap, don't
you know, it's as much as a hundred times worse in there
now than it was when he first got a-going. I never did see
one of 'em warm up to his work so, and take such a dumna-
tion interest in it. No, sir, I never did, as long as I've ben
on the road ; and I've carried a many a one of 'em, as I was
telling you."

We went in again, after we were frozen pretty stiff ; but
my, we couldn't stay in, now. So we just waltzed back and
forth, freezing, and thawing, and stifling, by turns. In about
an hour we stopped at another station ; and as we left it
Thompson came in with a bag, and said —

"Cap, I'm a-going to chance him once more — just this
once ; and if we don't fetch him this time, the thing for us
to do is to just throw up the sponge and withdraw from the
canvass. That's the way / put it up."

He had brought a lot of chicken feathers, and dried ap
ples, and leaf tobacco, and rags, and old shoes, and sulphur,
and assafcetida, and one thing or another ; and he piled them
on a breadth of sheet-iron in the middle of the floor, and
set fire to them. When they got well started, I couldn't see,
myself, how even the corpse could stand it. All that went
before was just simply poetry to that smell — but mind you,
the original smell stood up out of it just as sublime as ever
— fact is, these other smells just seemed to give it a better

275

hold ; and my, how rich it was ! I didn't make these re
flections there — there wasn't time — made them on the plat
form. And breaking for the platform, Thompson got suffo
cated and fell ; and before I got him dragged out, which I
did by the collar, I was mighty near gone myself. When
we revived, Thompson said dejectedly —

" We got to stay out here, Cap. We got to do it. They
ain't no other way. The Governor wants to travel alone, and
he's fixed so he can outvote us."

And presently he added — •

" And don't you know, we're fisoned. It's our last trip,
you can make up your mind to it. Typhoid fever is what's
going to come of this. I feel it a-coming right now. Yes,
sir, we're elected, just as sure as you're born."

We were taken from the platform an hour later, frozen
and insensible, at the next station, and I went straight off
into a virulent fever, and never knew anything again for three
weeks. I found out, then, that I had spent that awful night
with a harmless box of rifles and a lot of innocent cheese;
but the news was too late to save me; imagination had done
its work, and my health was permanently shattered ; neither
Bermuda nor any other land can ever bring it back to me.
This is my last trip ; I am on my way home to die.

We made the run home to New York quarantine in three
days and five hours, and could have gone right along up to
the city if we had had a health permit. But health permits are
not granted after seven in the evening, partly because a ship
cannot be inspected and overhauled with exhaustive thor
oughness except in daylight, and partly because health offi
cers are liable to catch cold if they expose themselves to the
night air. Still, you can buy a permit after hours for five
dollars extra, and the officer will do the inspecting next
week. Our ship and passengers lay under expense and in

276

humiliating captivity all night, under the very nose of the
little official reptile who is supposed to protect New York
from pestilence by his vigilant " inspections." This impos
ing rigor gave everybody a solemn and awful idea of the
beneficent watchfulness of our government, and there were
some who wondered if anything finer could be found in
other countries.

In the morning we were all a -tiptoe to witness the in
tricate ceremony of inspecting the ship. But it was a dis
appointing thing. The health officer's tug ranged alongside
for a moment, our purser handed the lawful three -dollar
permit fee to the health officer's bootblack, who passed us
a folded paper in a forked stick, and away we went. The
entire " inspection " did not occupy thirteen seconds.

The health officer's place is worth a hundred thousand
dollars a year to him. His system of inspection is perfect,
and therefore cannot be improved on; but it seems to me
that his system of collecting his fees might be amended.
For a great ship to lie idle all night is a most costly loss of
time ; for her passengers to have to do the same thing
works to them the same damage, with the addition of an
amount of exasperation and bitterness of soul that the
spectacle of that health officer's ashes on a shovel could
hardly sweeten. Now why would it not be better and sim
pler to let the ships pass in unmolested, and the fees and
permits be exchanged once a year by post ?

THE FACTS CONCERNING THE RECENT

CARNIVAL OF CRIME IN

CONNECTICUT

I WAS feeling blithe, almost jocund. I put a match to
my cigar, and just then the morning's mail was handed in.
The first superscription I glanced at was in a handwriting
that sent a thrill of pleasure through and through me. It
was Aunt Mary's ; and she was the person I loved and
honored most in all the world, outside of my own house
hold. She had been my boyhood's idol ; maturity, which
is fatal to so many enchantments, had not been able to dis
lodge her from her pedestal ; no, it had only justified her
right to be there, and placed her dethronement permanent
ly among the impossibilities. To show how strong her in
fluence over me was, I will observe that long after every
body else's " db-stop-smoking " had ceased to affect me in
the slightest degree, Aunt Mary could still stir my torpid
conscience into faint signs of life when she touched upon
the matter. But all things have their limit, in this world.
A happy day came at last, when even Aunt Mary's words
could no longer move me. I was not merely glad to see
that day arrive ; I was more than glad — I was grateful ; for
when its sun had set, the one alloy that was able to mar my
enjoyment of my aunt's society was gone. The remainder

of her stay with us that winter was in every way a delight.
Of course she pleaded with me just as earnestly as ever,
after that blessed day, to quit my pernicious habit, but to
no purpose whatever ; the moment she opened the subject
I at once became calmly, peacefully, contentedly indifferent
— absolutely, adamantinely indifferent. Consequently the
closing weeks of that memorable visit melted away as pleas
antly as a dream, they were so freighted, for me, with tran
quil satisfaction. I could not have enjoyed my pet vice
more if my gentle tormentor had been a smoker herself,
and an advocate of the practice. Well, the sight of her
handwriting reminded me that I was getting very hungry to
see her again. I easily guessed what I should find in her
letter. I opened it. Good ! just as I expected ; she was
coming ! Coming this very day, too, and by the morning
train ; I might expect her any moment.

I said to myself, " I am thoroughly happy and content,
now. If my most pitiless enemy could appear before me
at this moment, I would freely right any wrong I may have
done him."

Straightway the door opened, and a shrivelled, shabby
dwarf entered. He was not more than two feet high.
He seemed to be about forty years old. Every feature
and every inch of him was a trifle out of shape ; and so,
while one could not put his finger upon any particular part
and say, " This is a conspicuous deformity," the spectator
perceived that this little person was a deformity as a whole
— a vague, general, evenly blended, nicely adjusted de
formity. There was a fox-like cunning in the face and the
sharp little eyes, and also alertness and malice. And yet,
this vile bit of human rubbish seemed to bear a sort of re
mote and ill-defined resemblance to me ! It was dully per
ceptible in the mean form, the countenance, and even the
clothes, gestures, manner, and attitudes of the creature.

279

He was a far-fetched, dim suggestion of a burlesque upon
me, a caricature of me in little. One thing about him
struck me forcibly, and most unpleasantly : he was covered
all over with a fuzzy, greenish mould, such as one some
times sees upon mildewed bread. The sight of it was nau
seating.

He stepped along with a chipper air, and flung himself into
a doll's chair in a very free-and-easy way, without waiting
to be asked. He tossed his hat into the waste-basket. He
picked up my old chalk pipe from the floor, gave the stem
a wipe or two on his knee, filled the bowl from the tobacco-
box at his side, and said to me in a tone of pert command —

" Gimme a match !"

I blushed to the roots of my hair; partly with indignation,
but mainly because it somehow seemed to me that this
whole performance was very like an exaggeration of conduct
which I myself had sometimes been guilty of in my inter
course with familiar friends — but never, never with strangers,
I observed to myself. I wanted to kick the pygmy into the
fire, but some incomprehensible sense of being legally and
legitimately under his authority forced me to obey his
order. He applied the match to the pipe, took a contem
plative whiff or two, and remarked, in an irritatingly familiar
way — v

" Seems to me it's devilish odd weather for this time of
year."

I flushed again, and in anger and humiliation as before ;
for the language was hardly an exaggeration of some that I
have uttered in my day, and moreover was delivered in a
tone of voice and with an exasperating drawl that had the
seeming of a deliberate travesty of my style. Now there is
nothing I am quite so sensitive about as a mocking imita
tion of my drawling infirmity of speech. I spoke up sharply
and said —

280

" Look here, you miserable ash - cat ! you will have to
give a little more attention to your manners, or I will throw
you out of the window!"

The manikin smiled a smile of malicious content and se
curity, puffed a whiff of smoke contemptuously toward me,
and said, with a still more elaborate drawl —

"Come — go gently, now; don't put on too many airs
with your betters."

This cool snub rasped me all over, but it seemed to sub
jugate me, too, for a moment. The pygmy contemplated
me awhile with his weasel eyes, and then said, in a pecul
iarly sneering way —

" You turned a tramp away from your door this morn
ing."

I said crustily —

" Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn't. How do you know ?"

" Well, I know. It isn't any matter how I know."

" Very well. Suppose I did turn a tramp away from the
door — what of it ?"

"Oh, nothing; nothing in particular. Only you lied to
him."

"I didn't! That is, I—"

" Yes, but you did ; you lied to him."

I felt a guilty pang — in truth I had felt it forty times
before that tramp had travelled a block from my door —
but still I resolved to make a show of feeling slandered ;
so I said —

" This is a baseless impertinence. I said to the tramp — "

" There — wait. You were about to lie again. / know
what you said to him. You said the cook was gone down
town and there was nothing left from breakfast. Two lies.
You knew the cook was behind the door, and plenty of
provisions behind her."

This astonishing accuracy silenced me ; and it filled me

28 1

with wondering speculations, too, as to how this cub could
have got his information. Of course he could have culled
the conversation from the tramp, but by what sort of magic
had he contrived to find out about the concealed cook ?
Now the dwarf spoke again : —

" It was rather pitiful, rather small, in you to refuse to
read that poor young woman's manuscript the other day,
and give her an opinion as to its literary value ; and she
had come so far, too, and so hopefully. Now wasn't it ?"

I felt like a cur ! And I had felt so every time the thing
had recurred to my mind, I may as well confess. I flushed
hotly and said —

" Look here, have you nothing better to do than prowl
around prying into other people's business ? Did that girl
tell you that ?"

" Never mind whether she did or not. The main thing
is, you did that contemptible thing. And you felt ashamed
of it afterwards. Aha ! you feel ashamed of it now f"

This with a sort of devilish glee. With fiery earnestness
I responded —

" I told that 'girl, in the kindest, gentlest way, that I could
not consent to deliver judgment upon any one's manuscript,
because an individual's verdict was worthless. It might
underrate a work of high merit and lose it to the world, or
it might overrate a trashy production and so open the way
for its infliction upon the world. I said that the great pub
lic was the only tribunal competent to sit in judgment upon
a literary effort, and therefore it must be best to lay it before
that tribunal in the outset, since in the end it must stand or
fall by that mighty court's decision anyway."

" Yes, you said all that. So you did, you juggling, small-
souled shuffler ! And yet when the happy hopefulness faded
out of that poor girl's face, when you saw her furtively slip
beneath her shawl the scroll she had so patiently and hon-

282

estly scribbled at — so ashamed of her darling now, so proud
of it before — when you saw the gladness go out of her eyes
and the tears come there, when she crept away so humbly
who had come so — "

" Oh, peace ! peace ! peace ! Blister your merciless
tongue, haven't all these thoughts tortured me enough with
out your coming here to fetch them back again !"

Remorse ! remorse ! It seemed to me that it would eat
the very heart out of me ! And yet that small fiend only sat
there leering at me with joy and contempt, and placidly
chuckling. Presently he began to speak again. Every sen
tence was an accusation, and every accusation a truth. Ev
ery clause was freighted with sarcasm and derision, every
slow-dropping word burned like vitriol. The dwarf remind
ed me of times when I had flown at my children in anger
and punished them for faults which a little inquiry would
have taught me that others, and not they, had committed.
He reminded me of how I had disloyally allowed old friends
to be traduced in my hearing, and been too craven to utter
a word in their defence. He reminded me of many dishon
est things which I had done ; of many which I had procured
to be done by children and other irresponsible persons ; of
some which I had planned, thought upon, and longed to
do, and been kept from the performance by fear of conse
quences only. With exquisite cruelty he recalled to my
mind, item by item, wrongs and unkindnesses I had inflict
ed and humiliations I had put upon friends since dead, "who
died thinking of those injuries, maybe, and grieving over
them," he added, by way of poison to the stab.

" For instance," said he, " take the case of your younger
brother, when you two were boys together, many a long year
ago. He always lovingly trusted in you with a fidelity that
your manifold treacheries were not able to shake. He fol
lowed you about like a dog, content to suffer wrong and

abuse if he might only be with you; patient under these in
juries so long as it was your hand that inflicted them. The
latest picture you have of him in health and strength must
be such a comfort to you ! You pledged your honor that if
he would let you blindfold him no harm should come to him;
and then, giggling and choking over the rare fun of the joke,
you led him to a brook thinly glazed with ice, and pushed
him in ; and how you did laugh ! Man, you will never for
get the gentle, reproachful look he gave you as he struggled
shivering out, if you live a thousand years ! Oho ! you see
it now, you see it now /"

"Beast, I have seen it a million times, and shall see it
a million more ! and may you rot away piecemeal, and surfer
till doomsday what I suffer now, for bringing it back to me
again !"

The dwarf chuckled contentedly, and went on with his
accusing history of my career. I dropped into a moody,
vengeful state, and suffered in silence under the merciless
lash. At last this remark of his gave me a sudden rouse : —

" Two months ago, on a Tuesday, you woke up, away in
the night, and fell to thinking, with shame, about a pecul
iarly mean and pitiful act of yours toward a poor ignorant
Indian in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains in the winter
of eighteen hundred and — "

" Stop a moment, devil ! Stop ! Do you mean to tell
me that even my very thoughts are not hidden from you ?"

" It seems to look like that. Didn't you think the
thoughts I have just mentioned ?"

" If I didn't, I wish I may never breathe again ! Look
here, friend — look me in the eye. Who are you ?"

" Well, who do you think ?"

" I think you are Satan himself. I think you are the
devil."

" No."

284

" No ? Then who can you be ?"

" Would you really like to know ?"

"Indeed I would."

" Well, I am your Conscience /"

In an instant I was in a blaze of joy and exultation. I
sprang at the creature, roaring —

" Curse you, I have wished a hundred million times that
you were tangible, and that I could get my hands on your
throat once ! Oh, but I will wreak a deadly vengeance on — "

Folly ! Lightning does not move more quickly than my
Conscience did ! He darted aloft so suddenly that in the
moment my ringers clutched the empty air he was already
perched on the top of the high bookcase, with his thumb
at his nose in token of derision. I flung the poker at
him, and missed. I fired the boot-jack. In a blind rage I
flew from place to place, and snatched and hurled any mis
sile that came handy; the storm of books, inkstands, and
chunks of coal gloomed the air and beat about the mani
kin's perch relentlessly, but all to no purpose ; the nimble
figure dodged every shot; and not only that, but burst into
a cackle of sarcastic and triumphant laughter as I sat down
exhausted. While I puffed and gasped with fatigue and ex
citement, my Conscience talked to this effect :—

" My good slave, you are curiously witless — no, I mean
characteristically so. In truth, you are always consistent,
always yourself, always an ass. Otherwise it must have
occurred to you that if you attempted this murder with a
sad heart and a heavy conscience, I would droop under
the burdening influence instantly. Fool, I should have
weighed a ton, and could not have budged from the floor ;
but instead, you are so cheerfully anxious to kill me that
your conscience is as light as a feather ; hence I am away
up here out of your reach. I can almost respect a mere
ordinary sort of fool ; but you — pah !M

285

I would have given anything, then, to be heavy-hearted,
so that I could get this person down from there and take
his life, but I could no more be heavy-hearted over such a
desire than I could have sorrowed over its accomplishment.
So I could only look longingly up at my master, and rave
at the ill-luck that denied me a heavy conscience the one
only time that I had ever wanted such a thing in my life.
By-and-by I got to musing over the hour's strange ad
venture, and of course my human curiosity began to work.
I set myself to framing in my mind some questions for this
fiend to answer. Just then one of my boys entered, leaving
the door open behind him, and exclaimed, —

" My ! what has been going on, here ? The bookcase is
all one riddle of — "

I sprang up in consternation, and shouted —

"Out of this! Hurry! Jump! Fly! Shut the door!
Quick, or my Conscience will get away!"

The door slammed to, and I locked it. I glanced up and
was grateful, to the bottom of my heart, to see that my
owner was still my prisoner. I said —

" Hang you, I might have lost you ! Children are the
heedlessest creatures. But look here, friend, the boy did
not seem to notice you at all; how is that?"

" For a very good reason. I am invisible to all but you."

I made mental note of that piece of information with a
good deal of satisfaction. I could kill this miscreant now,
if I got a chance, and no one would know it. But this very
reflection made me so light-hearted that my Conscience
could hardly keep his seat, but was like to float aloft tow
ard the ceiling like a toy balloon. I said, presently —

" Come, my Conscience, let us be friendly. Let us fly a
flag of truce for a while. I am suffering to ask you some
questions."

" Very well. Begin."

19 T8

286

"Well, then, in the first place, why were you never visi
ble to me before ?"

" Because you never asked to see me before; that is, you
never asked in the right spirit and the proper form before.
You were just in the right spirit this time, and when you
called for your most pitiless enemy I was that person by a
very large majority, though you did not suspect it."

" Well, did that remark of mine turn you into flesh and
blood ?"

" No. It only made me visible to you. I am unsubstan
tial, just as other spirits are."

This remark prodded me with a sharp misgiving. If he
was unsubstantial, how was I going to kill him ? But I dis
sembled, and said persuasively —

" Conscience, it isn't sociable of you to keep at such a
distance. Come down and take another smoke."

This was answered with a look that was full of derision,
and with this observation added —

" Come where you can get at me and kill me ? The in
vitation is declined with thanks."

" All right," said I to myself ; " so it seems a spirit can
be killed, after all ; there will be one spirit lacking in this
world, presently, or I lose my guess." Then I said aloud —

« Friend—"

" There ; wait a bit. I am not your friend, I am your
enemy ; I am not your equal, I am your master. Call me
1 my lord,' if you please. You are too familiar."

" I don't like such titles. I am willing to call you sir.
That is as far as—''

" We will have no argument about this. Just obey; that
is all. Go on with your chatter."

" Very well, my lord — since nothing but my lord will suit
you — I was going to ask you how long you will be visible
tome?"

287

" Always 1"

I broke out with strong indignation : " This is simply an
outrage. That is what I think of it. You have dogged,
and dogged, and dogged me, all the days of my life, invisi
ble. That was misery enough ; now to have such a looking
thing as you tagging after me like another shadow all the
rest of my days is an intolerable prospect. You have my
opinion, my lord ; make the most of it."

" My lad, there was never so pleased a conscience in this
world as I was when you made me visible. It gives me an
inconceivable advantage. Now, I can look you straight in
the eye, and call you names, and leer at you, jeer at you,
sneer at you ; and you know .what eloquence there is in vis
ible gesture and expression, more especially when the effect
is heightened by audible speech. I shall always address
you henceforth in your o-w-n s-n-i-v-e-1-l-in-g d-r-a-w-1 —
baby!"

I let fly with the coal-hod. No result. My lord said —
" Come, come ! Remember the flag of truce !"
" Ah, I forgot that. I will try to be civil ; and you try it,
too, for a novelty. The idea of a civil conscience ! It is a
good joke; an excellent joke. All the consciences /have
ever heard of were nagging, badgering, fault-finding, exe
crable savages ! Yes ; and always in a sweat about some
poor little insignificant trifle or other — destruction catch the
lot of them, / say ! I would trade mine for the small-pox
and seven kinds of consumption, and be glad of the chance.
Now tell me, why is it that a conscience can't haul a man
over the coals once, for an offence, and then let him alone ?
Why is it that it wants to keep on pegging at him, day and
night and night and day, week in and week out, forever
and ever, about the same old thing? There is no sense in
that, and no reason in it. I think a conscience that will
act like that is meaner than the very dirt itself."

288

" Well, we like it ; that suffices."

" Do you do it with the honest intent to improve a
man?"

That question produced a sarcastic smile, and this re-
ply:-

" No, sir. Excuse me. We do it simply because it is
1 business.' It is our trade. The purpose of it is to im
prove the man, but we are merely disinterested agents. We
are appointed by authority, and haven't anything to say in
the matter. We obey orders and leave the consequences
where they belong. But I am willing to admit this much :
we do crowd the orders a trifle when we get a chance, which
is most of the time. We enjoy it. We are instructed to
remind a man a few times of an error ; and I don't mind
acknowledging that we try to give pretty good measure.
And when we get hold of a man of a peculiarly sensitive
nature, oh, but we do haze him ! I have known consciences
to come all the way from China and Russia to see a person
of that kind put through his paces, on a special occasion.
Why, I knew a man of that sort who had accidentally crip
pled a mulatto baby ; the news went abroad, and I wish
you may never commit another sin if the consciences didn't
flock from all over the earth to enjoy the fun and help his
master exercise him. That man walked the floor in torture
for forty-eight hours, without eating or sleeping, and then
blew his brains out. The child was perfectly well again in
three weeks."

" Well, you are a precious crew, not to put it too strong.
I think I begin to see, now, why you have always been a
trifle inconsistent with me. In your anxiety to get all the
juice you can out of a sin, you make a man repent of it in
three or four different ways. For instance, you found fault
with me for lying to that tramp, and I suffered over that.
But it was only yesterday that I told a tramp the square

truth, to wit, that, it being regarded as bad citizenship to
encourage vagrancy, I would give him nothing. What did
you do then ? Why, you made me say to myself, ' Ah, it
would have been so much kinder and more blameless to
ease him off with a little white lie, and send him away feel
ing that if he could not have bread, the gentle treatment
was at least something to be grateful for !' Well, I suffered
all day about that. Three days before I had fed a tramp,
and fed him freely, supposing it a virtuous act. Straight
off you said, ' O false citizen, to have fed a tramp !' and I
suffered as usual. I gave a tramp work ; you. objected to
it — after the contract was made, of course ; you never speak
up beforehand. Next, I refused a tramp work; you ob
jected to that. Next, I proposed to kill a tramp ; you kept
me awake all night, oozing remorse at every pore. Sure I
was going to be right this time, I sent the next tramp away
with my benediction ; and I wish you may live as long as I
do, if you didn't make me smart all night again because I
didn't kill him. Is there any way of satisfying that malig
nant invention which is called a conscience?"

" Ha, ha ! this is luxury ! Go on !"

" But come, now, answer me that question. Is there any
way?"

"Well, none that I propose to tell you, my son. Ass!
I don't care what act you may turn your hand to, I can
straightway whisper a word in your ear and make you think
you have committed a dreadful meanness. It is my busi
ness — and my joy — to make you repent of everything you
do. If I have fooled away any opportunities it was
not intentional; I beg to assure you it was not inten
tional !"

" Don't worry ; you haven't missed a trick that / know
of. I never did a thing in all my life, virtuous or other
wise, that I didn't repent of in twenty-four hours. In

29Q

church last Sunday I listened to a charity sermon. My
first impulse was to give three hundred and fifty dollars ; I
repented of that and reduced it a hundred ; repented of
that and reduced it another hundred ; repented of that and
reduced it another hundred ; repented of that and reduced
the remaining fifty to twenty-five ; repented of that and
came down to fifteen ; repented of that and dropped to two
dollars and a half ; when the plate came around at last, I
repented once more and contributed ten cents. Well, when
I got home, I did wish to goodness I had that ten cents
back again ! You never did let me get through a charity
sermon without having something to sweat about."

" Oh, and I never shall, I never shall. You can always
depend on me."

" I think so. Many and many's the restless night I've
wanted to take you by the neck. If I could only get hold
of you now !"

" Yes, no doubt. But I am not an ass ; I am only the
saddle of an ass. But go on, go on. You entertain me
more than I like to confess."

" I am glad of that. (You will not mind my lying a little,
to keep in practice.) Look here ; not to be too personal, I
think you are about the shabbiest and most contemptible
little shrivelled-up reptile that can be imagined. I am
grateful enough that you are invisible to other people, for I
should die with shame to be seen with such a mildewed
monkey of a conscience as you are. Now if you were five
or six feet high, and — "

" Oh, come ! who is to blame ?"

"7 don't know."

" Why, you are ; nobody else."

" Confound you, I wasn't consulted about your personal
appearance."

" I don't care, you had a good deal to do with it, never-

291

theless. When you were eight or nine years old, I was
seven feet high, and as pretty as a picture.1'

" I wish you had died young ! So you have grown the
wrong way, have you ?"

" Some of us grow one way and some the other. You
had a large conscience once ; if you've a small conscience
now, I reckon there are reasons for it. However, both of
us are to blame, you and I. You see, you used to be con
scientious about a great many things ; morbidly so, I may
say. It was a great many years ago. You probably do not
remember it, now. Well, I took a great interest in my
work, and I so enjoyed the anguish which certain pet sins
of yours afflicted you with, that I kept pelting at you until I
rather overdid the matter. You began to rebel. Of course
I began to lose ground, then, and shrivel a little, — diminish
in stature, get mouldy, and grow deformed. The more I
weakened, the more stubbornly you fastened on to those
particular sins ; till at last the places on my person that
represent those vices became as callous as shark skin.
Take smoking, for instance. I played that card a little too
long, and I lost. When people plead with you at this late
day to quit that vice, that old callous place seems to en
large and cover me all over like a shirt of mail. It ex
erts a mysterious, smothering effect ; and presently I, your
faithful hater, your devoted Conscience, go sound asleep !
Sound ? It is no name for it. I couldn't hear it thunder
at such a time. You have some few other vices — perhaps
eighty, or maybe ninety — that affect me in much the same
way."

" This is flattering ; you must be asleep a good part of
your time."

" Yes, of late years. I should be asleep all the time, but
for the help I get."

"Who helps you?"

292

"Other consciences. Whenever a person whose con
science I am acquainted with tries to plead with you about
the vices you are callous to, I get my friend to give his cli
ent a pang concerning some villany of his own, and that
shuts off his meddling and starts him off to hunt personal
consolation. My field of usefulness is about trimmed down
to tramps, budding authoresses, and that line of goods, now ;
but don't you worry — I'll harry you on them while they last !
Just you put your trust in me."

" I think I can. But if you had only been good enough
to mention these facts some thirty years ago, I should have
turned my particular attention to sin, and I think that by
this time I should not only have had you pretty permanent
ly asleep on the entire list of human vices, but reduced to
the size of a homoeopathic pill, at that. That is about the
style of conscience I am pining for. If I only had you
shrunk down to a homoeopathic pill, and could get my
hands on you, would I put you in a glass case for a keep
sake ? No, sir. I would give you to a yellow dog ! That
is where you ought to be — you and all your tribe. You are
not fit to be in society, in my opinion. Now another ques
tion. Do you know a good many consciences in this sec
tion ?"

" Plenty of them."

" I would give anything to see some of them ! Could you
bring them here ? And would they be visible to me ?"

" Certainly not."

" I suppose I ought to have known that, without asking.
But no matter, you can describe them. Tell me about my
neighbor Thompson's conscience, please."

"Very well. I know him intimately; have known him
many years. I knew him when he was eleven feet high and
of a faultless figure. But he is very rusty and tough and
xnisshapen now, and hardly ever interests himself about any-

293

thing. As to his present size — well, he sleeps in a cigar
box."

" Likely enough. There are few smaller, meaner men
in this region than Hugh Thompson. Do you know Rob
inson's conscience ?"

" Yes. He is a shade under four and a half feet high •
used to be a blonde ; is a brunette, now, but still shapely
and comely."

" Well, Robinson is a good fellow. Do you know Tom
Smith's conscience ?"

" I have known him from childhood. He was thirteen
inches high, and rather sluggish, when he was two years
old — as nearly all of us are, at that age. He is thirty-
seven feet high, now, and the stateliest figure in America.
His legs are still racked with growing-pains, but he has a
good time, nevertheless. Never sleeps. He is the most
active and energetic member of the New England Con
science Club ; is president of it. Night and day you can
find him pegging away at Smith, panting with his labor,
sleeves rolled up, countenance all alive with enjoyment.
He has got his victim splendidly dragooned, now. He can
make poor Smith imagine that the most innocent little
thing he does is an odious sin ; and then he sets to work
and almost tortures the soul out of him about it."

" Smith is the noblest man in all this section, and the
purest; and yet is always breaking his heart because he
cannot be good ! Only a conscience could find pleasure in
heaping agony upon a spirit like that. Do you know my aunt
Mary's conscience ?"

" I have seen her at a distance, but am not acquainted
with her. She lives in the open air altogether, because no
door is large enough to admit her."

" I can believe that. Let me see. Do you know the
conscience of that publisher who once stole some sketches

294

of mine for a ' series' of his, and then left me to pay the
law expenses I had to incur in order to choke him off?"

"Yes. He has a wide fame. He was exhibited, a month
ago, with some other antiquities, for the benefit of a recent
Member of the Cabinet's conscience, that was starving in
exile. Tickets and fares were high, but I travelled for
nothing by pretending to be the conscience of an editor, and
got in for half-price by representing myself to be the con
science of a clergyman. However, the publisher's con
science, which was to have been the main feature of the
entertainment, was a failure — as an exhibition. He was
there, but what of that ? The management had provided a
microscope with a magnifying power of only thirty thou
sand diameters, and so nobody got to see him, after all.
There was great and general dissatisfaction, of course,
but—"

Just here there was an eager footstep on the stair; I
opened the door, and my aunt Mary burst into the room.
It was a joyful meeting, and a cheery bombardment of
questions and answers concerning family matters ensued.
By-and-by my aunt said —

" But I am going to abuse you a little now. You prom
ised me, the day I saw you last, that you would look after
the needs of the poor family around the corner as faith
fully as I had done it myself. Well, I found out by acci
dent that you failed of your promise. Was that right ?"

In simple truth, I never had thought of that family a
second time ! And now such a splintering pang of guilt
shot through me ! I glanced up at my Conscience.
Plainly, my heavy heart was affecting him. His body was
drooping forward ; he seemed about to fall from the book
case. My aunt continued : —

" And think how you have neglected my poor protegee
at the almshouse, you dear, hard-hearted promise-breaker !"

295

I blushed scarlet, and my tongue was tied. As the sense
of my guilty negligence waxed sharper and stronger, my
Conscience began to sway heavily back and forth ; and
when my aunt, after a little pause, said in a grieved tone,
" Since you never once went to see her, maybe it will not
distress you now to know that that poor child died, months
ago, utterly friendless and forsaken !" my Conscience could
no longer bear up under the weight of my sufferings, but
tumbled headlong from his high perch and struck the floor
with a dull, leaden thump. He lay there writhing with
pain and quaking with apprehension, but straining every
muscle in frantic efforts to get up. In a fever of expectan
cy I sprang to the door, locked it, placed my back against
it, and bent a watchful gaze upon my struggling master.
Already my fingers were itching to begin their murderous
work.

" Oh, what can be the matter !" exclaimed my aunt, shrink
ing from me, and following with her frightened eyes the
direction of mine. My breath was coming in short, quick
gasps now, and my excitement was almost uncontrollable.
My aunt cried out, —

" Oh, do not look so ! You appall me ! Oh, what can
the matter be ? What is it you see ? Why do you stare so ?
Why do you work your fingers like that ?"

" Peace, woman !" I said, in a hoarse whisper. " Look
elsewhere ; pay no attention to me ; it is nothing — nothing.
I am often this way. It will pass in a moment. It comes
from smoking too much."

My injured lord was up, wild-eyed with terror, and trying
to hobble toward the door. I could hardly breathe, I was
so wrought up. My aunt wrung her hands, and said —

" Oh, I knew how it would be ; I knew it would come to
this at last ! Oh, I implore you to crush out that fatal habit
while it may yet be time ! You must not, you shall not be

296

deaf to my supplications longer !" My struggling Con
science showed sudden signs of weariness ! " Oh, promise
me you will throw off this hateful slavery of tobacco 1"
My Conscience began to reel drowsily, and grope with his
hands — enchanting spectacle ! " I beg you, I beseech you,
I implore you ! Your reason is deserting you ! There is
madness in your eye ! It flames with frenzy ! Oh, hear
me, hear me, and be saved ! See, I plead with you on my
very knees !" As she sank before me my Conscience reeled
again, and then drooped languidly to the floor, blinking
toward me a last supplication for mercy, with heavy eyes.
" Oh, promise, or you are lost ! Promise, and be redeemed !
Promise! Promise and live!" With a long-drawn sigh
my conquered Conscience closed his eyes and fell fast
asleep !

With an exultant shout I sprang past my aunt, and in an
instant I had my life-long foe by the throat. After so many
years of waiting and longing, he was mine at last. I tore
him to shreds and fragments. I rent the fragments to bits.
I cast the bleeding rubbish into the fire, and drew into my
nostrils the grateful incense of my burnt-offering. At last,
and forever, my Conscience was dead !

I was a free man ! I turned upon my poor aunt, who was
almost petrified with terror, and shouted —

" Out of this with your paupers, your charities, your re
forms, your pestilent morals ! You behold before you a
man whose life-conflict is done, whose soul is at peace ; a
man whose heart is dead to sorrow, dead to suffering, dead
to remorse ; a man WITHOUT A CONSCIENCE ! In my joy I
spare you, though I could throttle you and never feel a
pang! Fly!"

She fled. Since that day my life is all bliss. Bliss, un
alloyed bliss. Nothing in all the world could persuade me to
have a conscience again. I settled all my old outstanding

297

scores, and began the world anew. I killed thirty-eight per
sons during the first two weeks — all of them on account of
ancient grudges. I burned a dwelling that interrupted my
view. I swindled a widow and some orphans out of their
last cow, which is a very good one, though not thorough
bred, I believe. I have also committed scores of crimes,
of various kinds, and have enjoyed my work exceeding
ly, whereas it would formerly have broken my heart and
turned my hair gray, I have no doubt.

In conclusion I wish to state, by way of advertisement,
that medical colleges desiring assorted tramps for scientific
purposes, either by the gross, by cord measurement, or per
ton, will do well to examine the lot in my cellar before pur
chasing elsewhere, as these were all selected and prepared
by myself, and can be had at a low rate, because I wish to
clear out my stock and get ready for the spring trade.

ABOUT MAGNANIMOUS-INCIDENT
LITERATURE

ALL my life, from boyhood up, I have had the habit of
reading a certain set of anecdotes, written in the quaint vein
of The World's ingenious Fabulist, for the lesson they taught
me and the pleasure they gave me. They lay always con
venient to my hand, and whenever I thought meanly of my
kind I turned to them, and they banished that sentiment ;
whenever I felt myself to be selfish, sordid, and ignoble I
turned to them, and they told me what to do to win back my
self-respect. Many times I wished that the charming anec
dotes had not stopped with their happy climaxes, but had
continued the pleasing history of the several benefactors and
beneficiaries. This wish rose in my breast so persistently
that at last I determined to satisfy it by seeking out the se
quels of those anecdotes myself. So I set about it, and
after great labor and tedious research accomplished my task.
I will lay the result before you, giving you each anecdote in
its turn, and following it with its sequel as I gathered it
through my investigations.

THE GRATEFUL POODLE

One day a benevolent physician (who had read the
books) having found a stray poodle suffering from a broken

299

leg, conveyed the poor creature to his home, and after set
ting and bandaging the injured limb gave the little outcast
its liberty again, and thought no more about the matter.
But how great was his surprise, upon opening his door one
morning, some days later, to find the grateful poodle pa
tiently waiting there, and in its company another stray dog,
one of whose legs, by some accident, had been broken.
The kind physician at once relieved the distressed animal,
nor did he forget to admire the inscrutable goodness and
mercy of God, who had been willing to use so humble an
instrument as the poor outcast poodle for the inculcating
of, etc., etc., etc.

SEQUEL

The next morning the benevolent physician found the
two dogs, beaming with gratitude, waiting at his door, and
with them two other dogs — cripples. The cripples were
speedily healed, and the four went their way, leaving the
benevolent physician more overcome by pious wonder than
ever. The day passed, the morning came. There at the
door sat now the four reconstructed dogs, and with them
four others requiring reconstruction. This day also passed,
and another morning came ; and now sixteen dogs, eight of
them newly crippled, occupied the sidewalk, and the peo
ple were going around. By noon the broken legs were all
set, but the pious wonder in the good physician's breast
was beginning to get mixed with involuntary profanity.
The sun rose once more, and exhibited thirty-two dogs, six
teen of them with broken legs, occupying the sidewalk and
half of the street ; the human spectators took up the rest of
the room. The cries of the wounded, the songs of the
healed brutes, and the comments of the on-looking citizens
made great and inspiring cheer, but traffic was interrupted
in that street. The good physician hired a couple of as-

sistant surgeons and got through his benevolent work be
fore dark, first taking the precaution to cancel his church
membership, so that he might express himself with the lati
tude which the case required.

But some things have their limits. When once more the
morning dawned, and the good physician looked out upon
a massed and far-reaching multitude of clamorous and be
seeching dogs, he said, " I might as well acknowledge it, I
have been fooled by the books ; they only tell the pretty
part of the story, and then stop. Fetch me the shot-gun ;
this thing has gone along far enough."

He issued forth with his weapon, and chanced to step
upon the tail of the original poodle, who promptly bit him
in the leg. Now the great and good work which this poodle
had been engaged in had engendered in him such a mighty
and augmenting enthusiasm as to turn his weak head at
last and drive him mad. A month later, when the benevo
lent physician lay in the death throes of hydrophobia, he
called his weeping friends about him, and said —

" Beware of the books. They tell but half of the story.
Whenever a poor wretch asks you for help, and you feel a
doubt as to what result may flow from your benevolence,
give yourself the benefit of the doubt and kill the appli
cant."

And so saying he turned his face to the wall and gave
up the ghost.

THE BENEVOLENT AUTHOR

A poor and young literary beginner had tried in vain to
get his manuscripts accepted. At last, when the horrors
of starvation were staring him in the face, he laid his sad
case before a celebrated author, beseeching his counsel
and assistance. This generous man immediately put aside

301

his own matters and proceeded to peruse one of the dt
spised manuscripts. Having completed his kindly task
he shook the poor young man cordially by the hand, say
ing, " I perceive merit in this ; come again to me on Mon
day." At the time specified, the celebrated author, with a
sweet smile, but saying nothing, spread open a magazine
which was damp from the press. What was the poor young
man's astonishment to discover upon the printed page his
own article. " How can I ever," said he, falling upon his
knees and bursting into tears, " testify my gratitude for this
noble conduct !" The celebrated author was the renowned
Snodgrass; the poor young beginner thus rescued from ob
scurity and starvation was the afterwards equally renowned
Snagsby. Let this pleasing incident admonish us to turn
a charitable ear to all beginners that need help.

SEQUEL

The next week Snagsby was back with five rejected
manuscripts. The celebrated author was a little surprised,
because in the books the young struggler had needed but
one lift, apparently. However, he ploughed through these
papers, removing unnecessary flowers and digging up some
acres of adjective -stumps, and then succeeded in getting
two of the articles accepted.

A week or so drifted by, and the grateful Snagsby ar
rived with another cargo. The celebrated author had felt
a. mighty glow of satisfaction within himself the first time
he had successfully befriended the poor young struggler,
and had compared himself with the generous people in
the books with high gratification; but he was beginning to
suspect now that he had struck upon something fresh in
the noble-episode line. His enthusiasm took a chill. Still,
he could not bear to repulse this struggling young author,
who clung to him with such pretty simplicity and trustfulness.

3Q2

Well, the upshot of it all was that the celebrated author
presently found himself permanently freighted with the
poor young beginner. All his mild efforts to unload his
cargo went for nothing. He had to give daily counsel, daily
encouragement; he had to keep on procuring magazine ac
ceptances, and then revamping the manuscripts to make
them presentable. When the young aspirant got a start at
last, he rode into sudden fame by describing the celebrated
author's private life with such a caustic humor and such
minuteness of blistering detail that the book sold a pro
digious edition, and broke the celebrated author's heart
with mortification. With his latest gasp he said, " Alas,
the books deceived me ; they do not tell the whole story.
Beware of the struggling young author, my friends. Whom
God sees fit to starve, let not man presumptuously rescue
to his own undoing."

THE GRATEFUL HUSBAND

One day a lady was driving through the principal street
of a great city with her little boy, when the horses took
fright and dashed madly away, hurling the coachman from
his box and leaving the occupants of the carriage paralyzed
with terror. But a brave youth who was driving a grocery
wagon threw himself before the plunging animals, and suc
ceeded in arresting their flight at the peril of his own.*
The grateful lady took his number, and upon arriving at
her home she related the heroic act to her husband (who
had read the books), who listened with streaming eyes to
the moving recital, and who, after returning thanks, in con
junction with his restored loved ones, to Him who suffereth
not even a sparrow to fall to the ground unnoticed, sent

*This is probably a misprint. — M. T.

3Q3

for the brave young person, and, placing a check for five
hundred dollars in his hand, said, "Take this as a reward
for your noble act, William Ferguson, and if ever you shall
need a friend, remember that Thompson McSpadden has
a grateful heart." Let us learn from this that a good deed
cannot fail to benefit the doer, however humble he may be.

SEQUEL

William Ferguson called the next week and asked Mr.
McSpadden to use his influence to get him a higher em
ployment, he feeling capable of better things than driving
a grocer's wagon. Mr. McSpadden got him an under-
clerkship at a good salary.

Presently William Ferguson's mother fell sick, and Will
iam — Wei), to cut the story short, Mr. McSpadden con
sented to take her into his house. Before long she yearned
for the society of her younger children ; so Mary and Julia
were admitted also, and little Jimmy, their brother. Jim
my had a pocket-knife, and he wandered into the drawing-
room with it one day, alone, and reduced ten thousand dol
lars' worth of furniture to an indeterminable value in rather
less than three-quarters of an hour. A day or two later
he fell down-stairs and broke his neck, and seventeen of
his family's relatives came to the house to attend the
funeral. This made them acquainted, and they kept the
kitchen occupied after that, and likewise kept the McSpad-
dens busy hunting up situations of various sorts for them,
and hunting up more when they wore these out. The old
woman drank a good deal and swore a good deal ; but the
grateful McSpaddens knew it was their duty to reform her,
considering what her son had done for them, so they clave
nobly to their generous task. William came often and got
decreasing sums of money, and asked for higher and more
lucrative employments — which the grateful McSpadden

304

more or less promptly procured for him. McSpadden con
sented also, after some demur, to fit William for college ;
but when the first vacation came and the hero requested
to be sent to Europe for his health, the persecuted McSpad
den rose against the tyrant and revolted. He plainly and
squarely refused. William Ferguson's mother was so as
tounded that she let her gin-bottle drop, and her profane
lips refused to do their office. When she recovered she
said in a half-gasp, " Is this your gratitude ? Where would
your wife and boy be now, but for my son?"

William said, "Is this your gratitude? Did I save your
wife's life or not ? tell me that !"

Seven relations swarmed in from the kitchen and each
said, " And this is his gratitude !"

William's sisters stared, bewildered, and said, " And this
is his grat — " but were interrupted by their mother, who
burst into tears and exclaimed, "To think that my sainted
little Jimmy threw away his life in the service of such a
reptile !"

Then the pluck of the revolutionary McSpadden rose to
the occasion, and he replied with fervor, " Out of my house,
the whole beggarly tribe of you ! I was beguiled by the
books, but shall never be beguiled again — once is sufficient
for me." And turning to William he shouted, "Yes, you
did save my wife's life, and the next man that does it shall
die in his tracks !"

Not being a clergyman, I place my text at the end of my
sermon instead of at the beginning. Here it is, from Mr.
Noah Brooks's Recollections of President Lincoln in Scrib-
ner's Monthly —

J. H. Hackett, in his part of Falstaff, was an actor who gave Mr.
Lincoln great delight. With his usual desire to signify to others his

sense of obligation, Mr. Lincoln wrote a genial little note to the actor,
expressing his pleasure at witnessing his performance. Mr. Hackett,
in reply, sent a book of some sort ; perhaps it was one of his own au
thorship. He also wrote several notes to the President. One night,
quite late, when the episode had passed out of my mind, I went to the
White House in answer to a message. Passing into the President's of
fice, I noticed, to my surprise, Hackett sitting in the anteroom as if
waiting for an audience. The President asked me if any one was out
side. On being told, he said, half sadly, "Oh, I can't see him, I can't
see him; I was in hopes he had gone away." Then he added, " Now
this just illustrates the difficulty of having pleasant friends and acquaint
ances in this place. You know how I liked Hackett as an actor, and
how I wrote to tell him so. He sent me that book, and there I thought
the matter would end. He is a master of his place in the profession, I
suppose, and well fixed in it ; but just because we had a little friendly
correspondence, such as any two men might have, he wants something.
What do you suppose he wants?" I could not guess, and Mr. Lincoln
added, " Well, he wants to be consul to London. Oh, dear !"

I will observe, in conclusion, that the William Ferguson
incident occurred, and within my personal knowledge —
though I have changed the nature of the details, to keep
William from recognizing himself in it.

All the readers of this article have in some sweet and
gushing hour of their lives played the role of Magnanimous-
Incident hero. I wish I knew how many there are among
them who are willing to talk about that episode and like to
be reminded of the consequences that flowed from it.

PUNCH, BROTHERS, PUNCH

WILL the reader please to cast his eye over the following
lines, and see if he can discover anything harmful in them ?

Conductor, when you receive a fare,
Punch in the presence of the passenjare !
A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare,
A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare,
A pink trip slip for a three-cent fare,
Punch in the presence of the passenjare !

CHORUS

Punch, brothers ! punch with care !
Punch in the presence of the passenjare !

I came across these jingling rhymes in a newspaper, a
little while ago, and read them a couple of times. They
took instant and entire possession of me. All through
breakfast they went waltzing through my brain ; and when,
at last, I rolled up my napkin, I could not tell whether I had
eaten anything or not. I had carefully laid out my day's
work the day before — a thrilling tragedy in the novel which
I am writing. I went to my den to begin my deed of blood.
I took up my pen, but all I could get it to say was, " Punch
in the presence of the passenjare." I fought hard for an
hour, but it was useless. My head kept humming. "A
blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a six-

3Q7

cent fare," and so on and so on, without peace or respite.
The day's work was ruined — I could see that plainly enough,
I gave up and drifted down-town, and presently discovered
that my feet were keeping time to that relentless jingle.
When I could stand it no longer I altered my step. But it
did no good; those rhymes accommodated themselves to
the new step and went on harassing me just as before. I
returned home, and suffered all the afternoon ; suffered all
through an unconscious and unrefreshing dinner; suffered,
and cried, and jingled all through the evening; went to bed
and rolled, tossed, and jingled right along, the same as ever ;
got up at midnight frantic, and tried to read; but there was
nothing visible upon the whirling page except " Punch ! punch
in the presence of the passenjare." By sunrise I was out
of my mind, and everybody marvelled and was distressed
at the idiotic burden of my ravings — " Punch ! oh, punch !
punch in the presence of the passenjare !"

Two days later, on Saturday morning, I arose, a tottering
wreck, and went forth to fulfil an engagement with a valued

friend, the Rev. Mr. , to walk to the Talcott Tower, ten

miles distant. He stared at rne, but asked no questions.

We started. Mr. talked, talked, talked — as is his wont.

I said nothing ; I heard nothing. At the end of a mile, Mr.
said —

" Mark, are you sick ? I never saw a man look so hag
gard and worn and absent-minded. Say something ; do !"

Drearily, without enthusiasm, I said : " Punch, brothers,
punch with care ! Punch in the presence of the passenjare !"

My friend eyed me blankly, looked perplexed, then said —

" I do not think I get your drift, Mark. There does not
seem to be any relevancy in what you have said, certainly
nothing sad; and yet — maybe it was the way you said the
words — I never heard anything that sounded so pathetic.
What is—"

jo8_

But I heard no more. I was already far away with my
pitiless, heart-breaking "blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare,
buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, pink trip slip for a three-
cent fare ; punch in the presence of the passenjare." I do
not know what occurred during the other nine miles. How
ever, all of a sudden Mr. laid his hand on my shoulder

and shouted —

" Oh, wake up ! wake up ! wake up ! Don't sleep all day !
Here we are at the Tower, man ! I have talked myself
deaf and dumb and blind, and never got a response. Just
look at this magnificent autumn landscape ! Look at it !
look at it ! Feast your eyes on it ! You have travelled ;
you have seen boasted landscapes elsewhere. Come, now,
deliver an honest opinion. What do you say to this ?"

I sighed wearily, and murmured —

"A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a
three-cent fare, punch in the presence of the passenjare."

Rev. Mr. stood there, very grave, full of concern, ap
parently, and looked long at me ; then he said —

"Mark, there is something about this that I cannot under
stand. Those are about the same words you said before ;
there does not seem to be anything in them, and yet they
nearly break my heart when you say them. Punch in the —
how is it they go ?"

I began at the beginning and repeated all the lines. My
friend's face lighted with interest. He said —

" Why, what a captivating jingle it is ! It is almost music.
It flows along so nicely. I have nearly caught the rhymes
myself. Say them over just once more, and then I'll have
them, sure."

I said them over. Then Mr. said them. He made

one little mistake, which I corrected. The next time and
the next he got them right. Now a great burden seemed to
tumble from my shoulders. That torturing jingle departed

out of my brain, and a grateful sense of rest and peace
descended upon me. I was light-hearted enough to sing;
and I did sing for half an hour, straight along, as we went
jogging homeward. Then my freed tongue found blessed
speech again, and the pent talk of many a weary hour be
gan to gush and flow. It flowed on and on, joyously, jubi
lantly, until the fountain was empty and dry. As I wrung
my friend's hand at parting, I said —

" Haven't we had a royal good time ! But now I remem
ber, you haven't said a word for two hours. Come, come,
out with something !"

The Rev. Mr. turned a lack-lustre eye upon me, drew

a deep sigh, and said, without animation, without apparent
consciousness-—

" Punch, brothers, punch with care ! Punch in the pres
ence of the passenjare !"

A pang shot through me as I said to myself, "Poor fel
low, poor fellow! he has got it, now."

I did not see Mr. for two or three days after that.

Then, on Tuesday evening, he staggered into my presence
and sank dejectedly into a seat. He was pale, worn ; he was
a wreck. He lifted his faded eyes to my face and said —

" Ah, Mark, it was a ruinous investment that I made in
those heartless rhymes. They have ridden me like a night
mare, day and night, hour after hour, to this very moment.
Since I saw you I have suffered the torments of the lost.
Saturday evening I had a sudden call, by telegraph, and
took the night train for Boston. The occasion was the
death of a valued old friend who had requested that I
should preach his funeral sermon. I took my seat in the
cars and set myself to framing the discourse. But I never
got beyond the opening paragraph ; for then the train start
ed and the car -wheels began their ' clack, clack — clack-
clack-clack! clack, clack — clack -clack- clack !' and right

away those odious rhymes fitted themselves to that accom
paniment. For an hour I sat there and set a syllable of
those rhymes to every separate and distinct clack the car-
wheels made. Why, I was as fagged out, then, as if I had
been chopping wood all day. My skull was splitting with
headache. It seemed to me that I must go mad if I sat
there any longer ; so I undressed and went to bed. I
stretched myself out in my berth, and — well, you know what
the result was. The thing went right along, just the same.
'Clack-clack-clack, a blue trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for
an eight-cent fare ; clack-clack-clack, a buff trip slip, clack-
clack-clack, for a six-cent fare, and so on, and so on, and
so on — punch in the presence of the passenjare !' Sleep ?
Not a single wink! I was almost a lunatic when I got to
Boston. Don't ask me about the funeral. I did the best I
could, but every solemn individual sentence was meshed and
tangled and woven in and out with ; Punch, brothers, punch
with care, punch in the presence of the passenjare.' And
the most distressing thing was that my delivery dropped
into the undulating rhythm of those pulsing rhymes, and I
could actually catch absent-minded people nodding time to
the swing of it with their stupid heads. And, Mark, you
may believe it or not, but before I got through, the entire
assemblage were placidly bobbing their heads in solemn
unison, mourners, undertaker, and all. The moment I had
finished, I fled to the anteroom in a state bordering on
frenzy. Of course it would be my luck to find a sorrowing
and aged maiden aunt of the deceased there, who had ar
rived from Springfield too late to get into the church. She
began to sob, and said —

" ' Oh, oh, he is gone, he is gone, and I didn't see him
before he died !'

" * Yes !' I said, * he is gone, he is gone, he is gone — oh,
will this suffering never cease !'

" * You loved him, then ! Oh, you too loved him P

" ' Loved him ! Loved who ?'

" ' Why, my poor George ! my poor nephew!'

« « Oh — him ! Yes — oh, yes, yes. Certainly — certainly.
Punch —punch — oh, this misery will kill me!'

" * Bless you ! bless you, sir, for these sweet words ! /,
too, suffer in this dear loss. Were you present during his
last moments ?'

" * Yes. I — whose last moments ?'

" ' His. The dear departed's.'

" ' Yes ! Oh, yes — yes— yes ! I suppose so, I think so, 7
don't know ! Oh, certainly — I was there — 7 was there !'

" ' Oh, what a privilege ! what a precious privilege ! And
his last words — oh, tell me, tell me his last words ! What
did he say ?'

" ' He said — he said — oh, my head, my head, my head !
He said — he said — he never said anything but Punch,
punch, punch in the presence of the passenjare ! Oh, leave
me, madam ! In the name of all that is generous, leave me
to my madness, my .misery, my despair! — a buff trip slip
for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare —
endu-rance can no fur-ther go ! — PUNCH in the presence of
the passenjare!' "

My friend's hopeless eyes rested upon mine a pregnant
minute, and then he said impressively —

" Mark, you do not say anything. You do not offer me
any hope. But, ah me, it is just as well — it is just as well.
You could not do me any good. The time has long gone
by when words could comfort me. Something tells me
that my tongue is doomed to wag forever to the jigger of
that remorseless jingle. There — there it is coming on me
again : a blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip
for a—"

Thus murmuring faint and fainter, my friend sank into a

312

peaceful trance and forgot his sufferings in a blessed res
pite.

How did I finally save him from the asylum ? I took
him to a neighboring university and made him discharge
the burden of his persecuting rhymes into the eager ears of
the poor, unthinking students. How is it with them, now ?
The result is too sad to tell. Why did I write this article ?
It was for a worthy, even a noble, purpose. It was to warn
you, reader, if you should come across those merciless
rhymes, to avoid them — avoid them as you would a pesti
lence !

THE GREAT REVOLUTION IN PITCAIRN

LET me refresh the reader's memory a little. Nearly a
hundred years ago the crew of the British ship Bounty mu
tinied, set the captain and his officers adrift upon the open
sea, took possession of the ship, and sailed southward.
They procured wives for themselves among the natives of
Tahiti, then proceeded to a lonely little rock in mid-Pacific,
called Pitcairn's Island, wrecked the vessel, stripped her of
everything that might be useful to a new colony, and estab
lished themselves on shore.

Pitcairn's is so far removed from the track of commerce
that it was many years before another vessel touched there.
It had always been considered an uninhabited island ; so
when a ship did at last drop its anchor there, in 1808, the
captain was greatly surprised to find the place peopled.
Although the mutineers had fought among themselves, and
gradually killed each other off until only two or three of
the original stock remained, these tragedies had not oc
curred before a number of children had been born ; so in
1808 the island had a population of twenty-seven persons.
John Adams, the chief mutineer, still survived, and was to
live many years yet, as governor and patriarch of the flock.
From being mutineer and homicide, he had turned Chris
tian and teacher, and his nation of twenty-seven persons
was now the purest and devoutest in Christendom. Adams

had long ago hoisted the British flag and constituted his
island an appanage of the British crown.

To-day the population numbers ninety persons — sixteen
men, nineteen women, twenty -five boys, and thirty girls —
all descendants of the mutineers, all bearing the family
names of those mutineers, and all speaking English, and
English only. The island stands high up out of the sea,
and has precipitous walls. It is about three-quarters of a
mile long, and in places is as much as half a mile wide.
Such arable land as it affords is held by the several fam
ilies, according to a division made many years ago.
There is some live-stock — goats, pigs, chickens, and cats;
but no dogs, and no large animals. There is one church
building — used also as a capitol, a school -house, and a
public library. The title of the governor has been, for a
generation or two, " Magistrate and Chief Ruler, in subor
dination to her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain." It
was his province to make the laws, as well as execute them.
His office was elective ; everybody over seventeen years old
had a vote — no matter about the sex.

The sole occupations of the people were farming and
fishing ; their sole recreation, religious services. There has
never been a shop in the island, nor any money. The
habits and dress of the people have always been primitive,
and their laws simple to puerility. They have lived in a
deep Sabbath tranquillity, far from the world and its ambi
tions and vexations, and neither knowing nor caring what
was going on in the mighty empires that lie beyond their
limitless ocean solitudes. Once in three or four years a
ship touched there, moved them with aged news of bloody
battles, devastating epidemics, fallen thrones, and ruined
dynasties, then traded them some soap and flannel for some
yams and bread-fruit, and sailed away, leaving them to retire
into their peaceful dreams and pious dissipations once more.

On the 8th of last September, Admiral de Horsey, com
mander -in- chief of the British fleet in the Pacific, visited
Pitcairn's Island, and speaks as follows in his official re
port to the admiralty —

They have beans, carrots, turnips, cabbages, and a little maize ; pine
apples, fig-trees, custard-apples, and oranges ; lemons and cocoa-nuts.
Clothing is obtained alone from passing ships, in barter for refresh
ments. There are no springs on the island, but as it rains generally
once a month they have plenty of water, although at times, in former
years, they have suffered from drought. No alcoholic liquors, except
for medicinal purposes, are used, and a drunkard is unknown. . . .

The necessary articles required by the islanders are best shown by
those we furnished in barter for refreshments : namely, flannel, serge,
drill, half-boots, combs, tobacco, and soap. They also stand much in
need of maps and slates for their school, and tools of any kind are most
acceptable. I caused them to be supplied from the public stores with a
union- jack for display on the arrival of ships, and a pit saw, of which
they were greatly in need. This, I trust, will meet the approval of their
lordships. If the munificent people of England were only aware of the
wants of this most deserving little colony, they would not long go un-
supplied. . . .

Divine service is held every Sunday at 10.30 A.M. and at 3 P.M., in
the house built and used by John Adams for that purpose until he died
in 1829. It is conducted strictly in accordance with the liturgy of the
Church of England, by Mr. Simon Young, their selected pastor, who is
much respected. A Bible class is held every Wednesday, when all who
conveniently can, attend. There is also a general meeting for prayer
on the first Friday in every month. Family prayers are said in every
house the first thing in the morning and the last thing in the evening,
and no food is partaken of without asking God's blessing before and
afterwards. Of these islanders' religious attributes no one can speak
without deep respect. A people whose greatest pleasure and privilege
is to commune in prayer with their God, and to join in hymns of praise,
and who are, moreover, cheerful, diligent, and probably freer from vice
than any other community, need no priest among them.

Now I come to a sentence in the admiral's report which
he dropped carelessly from his pen, no doubt, and never

gave the matter a second thought. He little imagined
what a freight of tragic prophecy it bore ! This is the sen
tence —

One stranger, an American, has settled on the island — a doubtful
acquisition.

A doubtful acquisition indeed ! Captain Ormsby, in the
American ship Harriet, touched at Pitcairn's nearly four
months after the admiral's visit, and from the facts which he
gathered there we now know all about that American. Let
us put these facts together, in historical form. The Amer
ican's name was Butterworth Stavely. As soon as he had
become well acquainted with all the people — and this took
but a few days, of course — he began to ingratiate himself
with them by all the arts he could command. He became
exceedingly popular, and much looked up to ; for one of the
first things he did was to forsake his worldly way of life, and
throw all his energies into religion. He was always reading
his Bible, or praying, or singing hymns, or asking blessings.
In prayer, no one had such " liberty " as he, no one could
pray so long or so well.

At last, when he considered the time to be ripe, he began
secretly to sow the seeds of discontent among the people.
It was his deliberate purpose, from the beginning, to sub
vert the government, but of course he kept that to himself
for a time. He used different arts with different individu
als. He awakened dissatisfaction in one quarter by calling
attention to the shortness of the Sunday services; he ar
gued that there should be three three-hour services on Sun
day instead of only two. Many had secretly held this opin
ion before ; they now privately banded themselves into a
party to work for it. He showed certain of the women
that they were not allowed sufficient voice in the prayer-
meetings -, thus another party was formed. No weapon

317

was beneath his notice; he even descended to the children,
and awoke discontent in their breasts because — as he dis
covered for them — they had not enough Sunday-school.
This created a third party.

Now, as the chief of these parties, he found himself the
strongest power in the community. So he proceeded to his
next move — a no less important one than the impeach
ment of the chief magistrate, James Russell Nickoy; a man
of character and ability, and possessed of great wealth, he
being the owner of a house with a parlor to it, three acres
and a half of yam land, and the only boat in Pitcairn's, a
whale-boat ; and, most unfortunately, a pretext for this im
peachment offered itself at just the right time. One of
the earliest and most precious laws of the island was the
law against trespass. It was held in great reverence, and
was regarded as the palladium of the people's liberties.
About thirty years ago an important case came before the
courts under this -law, in this wise: a chicken belonging
to Elizabeth Young (aged, at that time, fifty-eight, a daugh
ter of John Mills, one of the mutineers of the Bounty)
trespassed upon the grounds of Thursday October Chris
tian (aged twenty- nine, a grandson of Fletcher Christian,
one of the mutineers). Christian killed the chicken. Ac
cording to the law, Christian could keep the chicken ; or, if
he preferred, he could restore its remains to the owner, and
receive damages in "produce" to an amount equivalent to
the waste and injury wrought by the trespasser. The court
records set forth that " the said Christian aforesaid did de
liver the aforesaid remains to the said Elizabeth Young,
and did demand one bushel of yams in satisfaction of the
damage done." But Elizabeth Young considered the de
mand exorbitant ; the parties could not agree ; therefore
Christian brought suit in the courts. He lost his case in
the justice's court; at least, he was awarded only a half-

peck of yams, which he considered insufficient, and in the
nature of a defeat. He appealed. The case lingered sev
eral years in an ascending grade of courts, and always
resulted in decrees sustaining the original verdict ; and
finally the thing got into the supreme court, and there it
stuck for twenty years. But last summer, even the supreme
court managed to arrive at a decision at last. Once
more the original verdict was sustained. Christian then
said he was satisfied ; but Stavely was present, and whis
pered to him and to his lawyer, suggesting, " as a mere
form," that the original law be exhibited, in order to make
sure that it still existed. It seemed an odd idea, but an
ingenious one. So the demand was made. A messenger
was sent to the magistrate's house ; he presently returned
with the tidings that it had disappeared from among the
state archives.

The court now pronounced its late decision void, since it
had been made under a law which had no actual existence.

Great excitement ensued, immediately. The news swept
abroad over the whole island that the palladium of the
public liberties was lost — maybe treasonably destroyed.
Within thirty minutes almost the entire nation were in the
court-room — that is to say, the church. The impeachment
of the chief magistrate followed, upon Stavely's motion.
The accused met his misfortune with the dignity which
became his great office. He did not plead, or even argue :
he offered the simple defence that he had not meddled
with the missing law ; that he had kept the state archives
in the same candle-box that had been used as their de
pository from the beginning ; and that he was innocent of
the removal or destruction of the lost document.

But nothing could save him , he was found guilty of mis-
prision of treason, and degraded from his office, and all his
property was confiscated.

The lamest part of the whole shameful matter was the
reason suggested by his enemies for his destruction of the
law, to wit : that he did it to favor Christian, because Chris
tian was his cousin ! Whereas Stavely was the only indi
vidual in the entire nation who was not his cousin. The
reader must remember that all these people are the de
scendants of half a dozen men ; that the first children inter
married together and bore grandchildren to the mutineers ;
that these grandchildren intermarried; after them, great
and great-great-grandchildren intermarried: so that to-day
everybody is blood kin to everybody. Moreover, the rela
tionships are wonderfully, even astoundingly, mixed up and
complicated. A stranger, for instance, says to an islander —

" You speak of that young woman as your cousin ; a while
ago you called her your aunt."

" Well, she is my aunt, and my cousin too. And also my
step-sister, my niece, my fourth cousin, my thirty-third cous
in, my forty-second cousin, my great-aunt, my grandmother;
my widowed sister-in-law — and next week she will be my
wife."

So the charge of nepotism against the chief magistrate
was weak. But no matter ; weak or strong, it suited Stave
ly. Stavely was immediately elected to the vacant magis
tracy ; and, oozing reform from every pore, he went vigor
ously to work. In no long time religious services raged
everywhere and unceasingly. By command, the second
prayer of the Sunday morning service, which had custom
arily endured some thirty -five or forty minutes, and had
pleaded for the world, first by continent and then by nation
al and tribal detail, was extended to an hour and a half, and
made to include supplications in behalf of the possible peo
ples in the several planets. Everybody was pleased with
this ; everybody said, " Now this is something like" By
command, the usual three -hour sermons were doubled in

320

length. The nation came in a body to testify their gratitude
to the new magistrate. The old law forbidding cooking on
the Sabbath was extended to the prohibition of eating, also.
By command, Sunday-school was privileged to spread over
into the week. The joy of all classes was complete. In one
short month the new magistrate had become the people's
idol!

The time was ripe for this man's next move. He began,
cautiously at first, to poison the public mind against Eng
land. He took the chief citizens aside, one by one, and
conversed with them on this topic. Presently he grew bold
er, and spoke out. He said the nation owed it to itself, to
its honor, to its great traditions, to rise in its might and
throw off " this galling English yoke."

But the simple islanders answered —

" We had not noticed that it galled. How does it gall ?
England sends a ship once in three or four years to give us
soap and clothing, and things which we sorely need and
gratefully receive ; but she never troubles us ; she lets us go
our own way."

" She lets you go your own way ! So slaves have felt and
spoken in all the ages ! This speech shows how fallen you
are, how base, how brutalized, you have become, under this
grinding tyranny ! What ! has all manly pride forsaken
you? Is liberty nothing? Are you content to be a mere
appendage to a foreign and hateful sovereignty, when you
might rise up and take your rightful place in the august
family of nations, great, free, enlightened, independent, the
minion of no sceptred master, but the arbiter of your own
destiny, and a voice and a power in decreeing the destinies
of your sister-sovereignties of the world ?"

Speeches like this produced an effect by-and-by. Citizens
began to feel the English yoke ; they did not know exactly
how or whereabouts they felt it, but they were perfectly cer-

321

tain they did feel it. They got to grumbling a good deal,
and chafing under their chain^ and longing for relief and
release. They presently fell to hating the English flag, that
sign and symbol of their nation's degradation; they ceased
to glance up at it as they passed the capitol, but averted
their eyes and grated their teeth; and one morning, when
it was found trampled into the mud at the foot of the staff,
they left it there, and no man put his hand to it to hoist it
again. A certain thing which was sure to happen sooner or
later happened now. Some of the chief citizens went to the
magistrate by night, and said —

" We can endure this hated tyranny no longer. How can
we cast it off?"

" By a coup d'etat.

"How?"

" A coup d'etat. It is like this : everything is got ready,
and at the appointed moment I, as the official head of the
nation, publicly and solemnly proclaim its independence,
and absolve it from allegiance to any and all other powers
whatsoever."

" That sounds simple and easy. We can do that right
away. Then what will be the next thing to do ?"

" Seize all the defences and public properties of all kinds,
establish martial law, put the army and navy on a war foot
ing, and proclaim the empire !"

This fine programme dazzled these innocents. They
said —

"This is grand — this is splendid; but will not England
resist ?"

" Let her. This rock is a Gibraltar."

" True. But about the empire ? Do we need an empire,
and an emperor?"

"What you need, my friends, is unification. Look at
Germany ; look at Italy. They are unified. Unification is

322

the thing. It makes living dear. That constitutes progress.
We must have a standing army, and a navy. Taxes follow,
as a matter of course. All these things summed up make
grandeur. With unification and grandeur, what more can
you want? Very well — only the empire can confer these
boons."

So on the 8th day of December Pitcairn's Island was
proclaimed a free and independent nation ; and on the
same day the solemn coronation of Butterworth I., emperor
of Pitcairn's Island, took place, amid great rejoicings and
festivities. The entire nation, with the exception of four
teen persons, mainly little children, marched past the throne
in single file, with banners and music, the procession being
upwards of ninety feet long ; and some said it was as much
as three-quarters of a minute passing a given point. Noth
ing like it had ever been seen in the history of the island
before. Public enthusiasm was measureless.

Now straightway imperial reforms began. Orders of no
bility were instituted. A minister of the navy was appoint
ed, and the whale-boat put in commission. A minister of
war was created, and ordered to proceed at once with the
formation of a standing army. A first lord of the treasury
was named, and commanded to get up a taxation scheme,
and also open negotiations for treaties, offensive, defen
sive, and commercial, with foreign powers. Some generals
and admirals were appointed ; also some chamberlains,
some equerries in waiting, and some lords of the bed
chamber.

At this point all the material was used up. The Grand
Duke of Galilee, minister of war, complained that all the
sixteen grown men in the empire had been given great
offices, and consequently would not consent to serve in the
ranks; wherefore his standing army was at a stand-still.
The Marquis of Ararat, minister of the navy, made a simi-

323

lar complaint. He said he was willing to steer the whale-
boat himself, but he must have somebody to man her.

The emperor did the best he could in the circumstances :
he took all the boys above the age of ten years away from
their mothers, and pressed them into the army, thus con
structing a corps of seventeen privates, officered by one
lieutenant-general and two major-generals. This pleased
the minister of war, but procured the enmity of all the
mothers in the land ; for they said their precious ones
must now find bloody graves in the fields of war, and he
would be answerable for it. Some of the more heart
broken and inappeasable among them lay constantly in
wait for the emperor and threw yams at him, unmindful of
the body-guard.

On account of the extreme scarcity of material, it was
found necessary to require the Duke of Bethany, postmas
ter-general, to pull stroke-oar in the navy, and thus sit in
the rear of a noble of lower degree, namely, Viscount Ca
naan, lord-justice of the common pleas. This turned the
Duke of Bethany into a tolerably open malcontent and a
secret conspirator — a thing which the emperor foresaw, but
could not help.

Things went from bad to worse. The emperor raised
Nancy Peters to the peerage on one day, and married her
the next, notwithstanding, for reasons of state, the cabinet
had strenuously advised him to marry Emmeline, eldest
daughter of the Archbishop of Bethlehem. This caused
trouble in a powerful quarter — the church. The new em
press secured the support and friendship of two-thirds of
the thirty-six grown women in the nation by absorbing them
into her court as maids of honor; but this made deadly
enemies of the remaining twelve. The families of the maids
of honor soon began to rebel, because there was nobody at
home to keep house. The twelve snubbed women refused

324

to enter the imperial kitchen as servants ; so the empress
had to require the Countess of Jericho and other great court
dames to fetch water, sweep the palace, and perform other
menial and equally distasteful services. This made bad
blood in that department.

Everybody fell to complaining that the taxes levied for
the support of the army, the navy, and the rest of the im
perial establishment were intolerably burdensome, and
were reducing the nation to beggary. The emperor's re
ply — "Look at Germany; look at Italy. Are you better
than they? and haven't you unification ?" — did not satisfy
them. They said, " People can't eat unification, and we are
starving. Agriculture has ceased. Everybody is in the
army, everybody is in the navy, everybody is in the public
service, standing around in a uniform, with nothing what
ever to do, nothing to eat, and nobody to till the fields —

" Look at Germany ; look at Italy. It is the same there.
Such is unification, and there's no other way to get it — no
other way to keep it after you've got it," said the poor em
peror always.

But the grumblers only replied, " We can't stand the tax
es — we can't stand them."

Now right on top of this the cabinet reported a national
debt amounting to upwards of forty-five dollars — half a
dollar to every individual in the nation. And they pro
posed td fund something. They had heard that this was
always done in such emergencies. They proposed duties
on exports ; also on imports. And they wanted to issue
bonds ; also paper money, redeemable in yams and cab
bages in fifty years. They said the pay of the army and
of the navy and of the whole governmental machine was
far in arrears, and unless something was done, and done
immediately, national bankruptcy must ensue, and possibly
insurrection and revolution. The emperor at once re-

325

solved upon a high-handed measure, and one of a nature
never before heard of in Pitcairn's Island. He went in
state to the church on Sunday morning, with the army at
his back, and commanded the minister of the treasury to
take up a collection.

That was the feather that broke the camel's back. First
one citizen, and then another, rose and refused to submit to
this unheard-of outrage — and each refusal was followed by
the immediate confiscation of the malcontent's property.
This vigor soon stopped the refusals, and the collection
proceeded amid a sullen and ominous silence. As the em
peror withdrew with the troops, he said, " I will teach you
who is master here." Several persons shouted, " Down with
unification !" They were at once arrested and torn from
the arms of their weeping friends by the soldiery.

But in the mean time, as any prophet might have fore
seen, a Social Democrat had been developed. As the em
peror stepped into the gilded imperial wheelbarrow at the
church door, the social democrat stabbed at him fifteen or
sixteen times with a harpoon, but fortunately with such a
peculiarly social democratic unprecision of aim as to do no
damage.

That very night the convulsion came. The nation rose
as one man — though forty-nine of the revolutionists were
of the other sex. The infantry threw down their pitch
forks ; the artillery cast aside their cocoa-nuts ; the navy
revolted; the emperor was seized, and bound hand and
foot in his palace. He was very much depressed. He
said —

"I freed you from a grinding tyranny; I lifted you up
out of your degradation, and made you a nation among
nations; I gave you a strong, compact, centralized gov
ernment ; and, more than all, I gave you the blessing of
blessings, — unification. I have done all this, and my re-

ward is hatred, insult, and these bonds. Take me ; do
with me as ye will. I here resign my crown and all my
dignities, and gladly do I release myself from their too .
heavy burden. For your sake I took them up ; for your
sake I lay them down. The imperial jewel is no more :
now bruise and defile as ye will the useless setting."

By a unanimous voice the people condemned the ex-
emperor and the social democrat to perpetual banishment
from church services, or to perpetual labor as galley-slaves
in the whale-boat — whichever they might prefer. The next
day the nation assembled again, and rehoisted the British
flag, reinstated the British tyranny, reduced the nobility to
the condition of commoners again, and then straightway
turned their diligent attention to the weeding of the ruined
and neglected yam patches, and the rehabilitation of the
old useful industries and the old healing and solacing
pieties. The ex-emperor restored the lost trespass law, and
explained that he had stolen it — not to injure any one, but
to further his political projects. Therefore the nation gave
the late chief magistrate his office again, and also his alien
ated property.

Upon reflection, the ex-emperor and the social democrat
chose perpetual banishment from religious services in pref
erence to perpetual labor as galley-slaves "with perpetual
religious services," as they phrased it; wherefore the people
believed that the poor fellows' troubles had unseated their
reason, and so they judged it best to confine them for the
present. Which they did.

Such is the history of Pitcairn's " doubtful acquisition."

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF
LYING

ESSAY, FOR DISCUSSION, READ AT A MEETING OF THE HIS
TORICAL AND ANTIQUARIAN CLUB OF HARTFORD, AND

OFFERED FOR THE THIRTY -DOLLAR PRIZE. NOW FIRST
PUBLISHED.*

OBSERVE, I do not mean to suggest that the custom of
lying has suffered any decay or interruption — no, for the
Lie, as a Virtue, a Principle, is eternal ; the Lie, as a rec
reation, a solace, a refuge in time of need, the fourth
Grace, the tenth Muse, man's best and surest friend, is
immortal, and cannot perish from the earth while this Club
remains. My complaint simply concerns the decay of the
art of lying. No high-minded man, no man of right feel
ing, can contemplate the lumbering and slovenly lying of
the present day without grieving to see a noble art so pros
tituted. In this veteran presence I naturally enter upon
this theme with diffidence ; it is like an old maid trying to
teach nursery matters to the mothers in Israel. It would
not become me to criHcise you, gentlemen, who are nearly
all my elders — and my superiors, in this thing — and so, if I
should here and there seem to do it, I trust it will in most
cases be more in a spirit of admiration than of fault-finding \

* Did not take the prize.

J28_

indeed if this finest of the fine arts had everywhere received
the attention, encouragement, and conscientious practice
and development which this Club has devoted to it, I
should not need to utter this lament, or shed a single tear.
I do not say this to flatter : I say it in a spirit of just and
appreciative recognition. [It had been my intention, at this
point, to mention names and give illustrative specimens,
but indications observable about me admonished me to be
ware of particulars and confine myself to generalities.]

No fact is more firmly established than that lying is a
necessity of our circumstances — the deduction that it is
then a Virtue goes without saying. No virtue can reach
its highest usefulness without careful and diligent cultiva
tion — therefore, it goes without saying, that this one ought
to be taught in the public schools — at the fireside — even in
the newspapers. What chance has the ignorant, unculti
vated liar against the educated expert ? What chance have
I against Mr. Per — against a lawyer? Judicious lying is
what the world needs. I sometimes think it were even
better and safer not to lie at all than to lie injudiciously.
An awkward, unscientific lie is often as ineffectual as the
truth.

Now let us see what the philosophers say. Note that ven
erable proverb : Children and fools always speak the truth.
The deduction is plain — adults and wise persons never
speak it. Parkman, the historian, says, "The principle of
truth may itself be carried into an absurdity." In another
place in the same chapter he says, "The saying is old that
truth should not be spoken at all times ; and those whom a
sick conscience worries into habitual violation of the maxim
are imbeciles and nuisances." It is strong language, but
true. None of us could live with an habitual truth-teller ;
but thank goodness none of us has to. An habitual truth-
teller is simply an impossible creature; he does not exist ,•

he never has existed. Of course there are people who
think they never lie, but it is not so — and this ignorance is
one of the very things that shame our so-called civilization.
Everybody lies — every day; every hour; awake; asleep;
in his dreams ; in his joy ; in his mourning; if he keeps his
tongue still, his hands, his feet, his eyes, his attitude, will
convey deception — and purposely. Even in sermons — but
that is a platitude.

In a far country where I once lived the ladies used to go
around paying calls, under the humane and kindly pretence
of wanting to see each other ; and when they returned home,
they would cry out with a glad voice, saying, " We made six
teen calls and found fourteen of them out" — not meaning
that they found out anything against the fourteen — no,
that was only a colloquial phrase to signify that they were
not at home — and their manner of saying it expressed their
lively satisfaction in that fact. Now their pretence of want
ing to see the fourteen — and the other two whom they had
been less lucky with — was that commonest and mildest
form of lying which is sufficiently described as a deflection
from the truth. Is it justifiable ? Most certainly. It is
beautiful, it is noble ; for its object is, not to reap profit,
but to convey a pleasure to the sixteen. The iron-souled
truth-monger would plainly manifest, or even utter the fact
that he didn't want to see those people — and he would be
an ass, and inflict a totally unnecessary pain. And next,
those ladies in that far country — but never mind, they had
a thousand pleasant ways of lying, that grew out of gentle
impulses, and were a credit to their intelligence and an
honor to their hearts. Let the particulars go.

The men in that far country were liars, every one. Their
mere howdy-do was a lie, because they didn't care how you
did, except they were undertakers. To the ordinary in
quirer you lied in return ; for you made no conscientious

33Q

diagnosis of your case, but answered at random, and usu
ally missed it considerably. You lied to the undertaker,
and said your health was failing — a wholly commendable
lie, since it cost you nothing and pleased the other man.
If a stranger called and interrupted you, you said with
your hearty tongue, " I'm glad to see you," and said with
your heartier soul, " I wish you were with the cannibals
and it was dinner-time." When he went, you said regret
fully, "Must you go ?" and followed it with a " Call again ;"
but you did no harm, for you did not deceive anybody nor
inflict any hurt, whereas the truth would have made you both
unhappy.

I think that all this courteous lying is a sweet and loving
art, and should be cultivated. The highest perfection of
politeness is only a beautiful edifice, built, from the base to
the dome, of graceful and gilded forms of charitable and
unselfish lying.

What I bemoan is the growing prevalence of the brutal
truth. Let us do what we can to eradicate it. An injurious
truth has no merit over an injurious lie. Neither should
ever be uttered. The man who speaks an injurious truth
lest his soul be not saved if he do otherwise, should reflect
that that sort of a soul is not strictly worth saving. The
man who tells a lie to help a poor devil out of trouble, is
one of whom the angels doubtless say, " Lo, here is an
heroic soul who casts his own welfare into jeopardy to suc
cor his neighbor's ; let us exalt this magnanimous liar."

An injurious lie is an uncommendable thing; and so, also,
and in the same degree, is an injurious truth — a fact which
is recognized by the law of libel.

Among other common lies, we have the silent lie — the
deception which one conveys by simply keeping still and
concealing the truth. Many obstinate truth-mongers indulge
in this dissipation, imagining that if they speak no lie, they

331

lie not at all. In that far country where I once lived, there
was a lovely spirit, a lady whose impulses were always high
and pure, and whose character answered to them. One day
I was there at dinner, and remarked, in a general way, that
we are all liars. She was amazed, and said, "Not all?" It
was before "Pinafore's" time, so I did not make the re
sponse which would naturally follow in our day, but frankly
said, "Yes, all — we are all liars; there are no exceptions."
She looked almost offended, and said, " Why, do you include
me?" " Certainly," I said, " I think you even rank as an ex
pert." She said, "'Sh— 'sh! the children!" So the subject
was changed in deference to the children's presence, and
we went on talking about other things. But as soon as the
young people were out of the way, the lady came warmly
back to the matter and said, "I have made it the rule of my
life to never tell a lie ; and I have never departed from it in
a single instance." I said, " I don't mean the least harm or
disrespect, but really you have been lying like smoke ever
since I've been sitting here. It has caused me a good deal
of pain, because I am not used to it." She required of me
an instance — just a single instance. So I said —

" Well, here is the unfilled duplicate of the blank which
the Oakland hospital people sent to you by the hand of the
sick-nurse when she came here to nurse your little nephew
through his dangerous illness. This blank asks all manner of
questions as to the conduct of that sick-nurse : ' Did she ever
sleep on her watch ? Did she ever forget to give the medi
cine ?' and so forth and so on. You are warned to be very
careful and explicit in your answers, for the welfare of the
service requires that the nurses be promptly fined or other
wise punished for derelictions. You told me you were per
fectly delighted with that nurse — that she had a thousand
perfections and only one fault: you found you never could
depend on her wrapping Johnny up half sufficiently while he

332

waited in a chilly chair for her to rearrange the warm bed.
You filled up the duplicate of this paper, and sent it back
to the hospital by the hand of the nurse. How did you
answer this question — ' Was the nurse at any time guilty
of a negligence which was likely to result. in the patient's
taking cold ?' Come — everything is decided by a bet here
in California: ten dollars to ten cents you lied when you
answered that question." She said, " I didn't ; / left it
blank!" " Just so— you have told a silent lie ; you have left it
to be inferred that you had no fault to find in that matter."
She said, " Oh, was that a lie ? And how could I mention her
one single fault, and she so good? — it would have been
cruel." I said, " One ought always to lie, when one can do
good by it; your impulse was right, but your judgment was
crude ; this comes of unintelligent practice. Now observe
the result of this inexpert deflection of yours. You know
Mr. Jones's Willie is lying very low with scarlet-fever ; well,
your recommendation was so enthusiastic that that girl is
there nursing him, and the worn-out family have all been
trustingly sound asleep for the last fourteen hours, leaving
their darling with full confidence in those fatal hands, be
cause you, like young George Washington, have a reputa —
However, if you are not going to have anything to do, I will
come around to-morrow and we'll attend the funeral togeth
er, for, of course, you'll naturally feel a peculiar interest in
Willie's case — as personal a one, in fact, as the undertaker."
But that was all lost. Before I was half-way through she
was in a carriage and making thirty miles an hour toward
the Jones mansion to save what was left of Willie and tell
all she knew about the deadly nurse. All of which was un
necessary, as Willie wasn't sick; I had been lying myself.
But that same day, all the same, she sent a line to the hos
pital which filled up the neglected blank, and stated the
facts, too, in the squarest possible manner.

333

Now, you see, this lady's fault was not in lying, but only
in lying injudiciously. She should have told the truth,
there, and made it up to the nurse with a fraudulent com
pliment further along in the paper. She could have said,
11 In one respect this sick-nurse is perfection — when she is
on watch, she never snores." Almost any little pleasant
lie would have taken the sting out of that troublesome but
necessary expression of the truth.

Lying is universal — we all do it; we all must do it.
Therefore, the wise thing is for us diligently to train our
selves to lie thoughtfully, judiciously ; to lie with a good
object, and not an evil one ; to lie for others' advantage,
and not our own ; to lie healingly, charitably, humanely,
not cruelly, hurtfully, maliciously; to lie gracefully and
graciously, not awkwardly and clumsily; to lie firmly, frank
ly, squarely, with head erect, not haltingly, tortuously, with
pusillanimous mien, as being ashamed of our high calling.
Then shall we be rid of the rank and pestilent truth that is
rotting the land ; then shall we be great and good and
beautiful, and worthy dwellers in a world where even be
nign Nature habitually lies, except when she promises exe
crable weather. Then — But I am but a new and feeble
student in this gracious art ; I cannot instruct this Club.

Joking aside, I think there is much need of wise exami
nation into what sorts of lies are best and wholesomest
to be indulged, seeing we must all lie and do all lie, and
what sorts it may be best to avoid — and this is a thing
which I feel I can confidently put into the hands of this ex.
perienced Club — a ripe body, who may be termed, in this
regard, and without undue flattery, Old Masters.

THE CANVASSER'S TALE

POOR, sad - eyed stranger ! There was that about his
humble mien, his tired look, his decayed -gentility clothes,
that almost reached the mustard-seed of charity that still
remained, remote and lonely, in the empty vastness of my
heart, notwithstanding I observed a portfolio under his arm,
and said to myself, Behold, Providence hath delivered his
servant into the hands of another canvasser.

Well, these people always get one interested. Before I
well knew how it came about, this one was telling me his
history, and I was all attention and sympathy. He told
it something like this :—

My parents died, alas, when I was a little, sinless child.
My uncle Ithuriel took me to his heart and reared me as
his own. He was my only relative in the wide world ; but
he was good and rich and generous. He reared me in the
lap of luxury. I knew no want that money could satisfy.

In the fulness of time I was graduated, and went with
two of my servants — my chamberlain and my valet — to
travel in foreign countries. During four years I flitted
upon careless wing amid the beauteous gardens of the dis
tant strand, if you will permit this form of speech in one
whose tongue was ever attuned to poesy; and indeed I so
speak with confidence, as one unto his kind, for I perceive by
your eyes that you too, sir, are gifted with the divine infla
tion. In those far lands I revelled in the ambrosial food

335

that fructifies the soul, the mind, the heart. But of all
things, that which most appealed to my inborn aesthetic
taste was the prevailing custom there, among the rich, of
making collections of elegant and costly rarities, dainty ob-
jets de vertu, and in an evil hour I tried to uplift my uncle
Ithuriel to a plane of sympathy with this exquisite employ
ment.

I wrote and told him of one gentleman's vast collection
of shells ; another's noble collection of meerschaum pipes ;
another's elevating and refining collection of undecipherable
autographs ; another's priceless collection of old china ;
another's enchanting collection of postage-stamps — and so
forth and so on. Soon my letters yielded fruit. My uncle
began to look about for something to make a collection of.
You may know, perhaps, how fleetly a taste like this dilates.
His soon became a raging fever, though I knew it not. He
began to neglect his great pork business ; presently he
wholly retired and turned an elegant leisure into a rabid
search for curious things. His wealth was vast, and he
spared it not. First he tried cow bells. He made a col
lection which filled five large salons, and comprehended all
the different sorts of cow-bells that ever had been contrived,
save one. That one — an antique, and the only specimen ex
tant — was possessed by another collector. My uncle offered
enormous sums for it, but the gentleman would not sell.
Doubtless you know what necessarily resulted. A true col
lector attaches no value to a collection that is not complete.
His great heart breaks, he sells his hoard, he turns his mind
to some field that seems unoccupied.

Thus did my uncle. He next tried brick-bats. After pil
ing up a vast and intensely interesting collection, the
former difficulty supervened; his great heart broke again;
he sold out his soul's idol to the retired brewer who pos
sessed the missing brick. Then he tried flint hatchets and

336

other implements of Primeval Man, but by-and-by discov
ered that the factory where they were made was supplying
other collectors as well as himself. He tried Aztec inscrip
tions and stuffed whales — another failure, after incredible
labor and expense. When his collection seemed at last
perfect, a stuffed whale arrived from Greenland and an
Aztec inscription from the Cundurango regions of Central
America that made all former specimens insignificant. My
uncle hastened to secure these noble gems. He got the
stuffed whale, but another collector got the inscription. A
real Cundurango, as possibly you know, is a possession of
such supreme value that, when once a collector gets it, he
will rather part with his family than with it. So my uncle
sold out, and saw his darlings go forth, never more to
return ; and his coal-black hair turned white as snow in
a single night.

Now he waited, and thought. He knew another disap.
pointment might kill him. He was resolved that he would
choose things next time that no other man was collecting.
He carefully made up his mind, and once more entered the
field — this time to make a collection of echoes.

"Of what?" said I.

Echoes, sir. His first purchase was an echo in Georgia
that repeated four times ; his next was a six-repeater in Mary
land ; his next was a thirteen-repeater in Maine ; his next
was a nine-repeater in Kansas ; his next was a twelve-repeater
in Tennessee, which he got cheap, so to speak, because it
was out of repair, a portion of the crag which reflected it
having tumbled down. He believed he could repair it at a
cost of a few thousand dollars, and, by increasing the ele
vation with masonry, treble the repeating capacity; but
the architect who undertook the job had never built an
echo before, and so he utterly spoiled this one. Before he
meddled with it, it used to talk back like a mother-in-law,

337

but now it was only fit for the deaf and dumb asylum.
Well, next he bought a lot of cheap little double-barrelled
echoes, scattered around over various States and Terri
tories ; he got them at twenty per cent, off by taking the
lot. Next he bought a perfect Gatling-gun of an echo in
Oregon, and it cost a fortune, I can tell you. You may
know, sir, that in the echo market the scale of prices is
cumulative, like the carat-scale in diamonds; in fact, the
same phraseology is used. A single -carat echo is worth
but ten dollars over and above the value of the land it is
on; a two -carat or double-barrelled echo is worth thirty
dollars; a five-carat is worth nine hundred and fifty; a ten-
carat is worth thirteen thousand. My uncle's Oregon echo,
which he called the Great Pitt Echo, was a twenty-two carat
gem, and cost two hundred and sixteen thousand dollars —
they threw the land in, for it was four hundred miles from
a settlement.

Well, in the meantime my path was a path of roses. I
was the accepted suitor of the only and lovely daughter of
an English earl, and was beloved to distraction. In that
dear presence I swam in seas of bliss. The family were
content, for it was known that I was sole heir to an uncle
held to be worth five millions of dollars. However, none
of us knew that my uncle had become a collector, at least
in anything more than a small way, for aesthetic amuse
ment.

Now gathered the clouds above my unconscious head.
That divine echo, since known throughout the world as the
Great Koh-i-noor, or Mountain of Repetitions, was discov
ered. It was a sixty-five-carat gem. You could utter a
word and it would talk back at you for fifteen minutes,
when the day was otherwise quiet. But behold, another
fact came to light at the same time : another echo-collector
was in the field. The two rushed to make the peerless pur-

338

chase. The property consisted of a couple of small hills
with a shallow swale between, out yonder among the back
settlements of New York State. Both men arrived on the
ground at the same time, and neither knew the other was
there. The echo was not all owned by one man ; a person
by the name of Williamson Bolivar Jarvis owned the east
hill, and a person by the name of Harbison J. Bledso
owned the west hill ; the swale between was the dividing
line. So while my uncle was buying Jarvis's hill for three
million two hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars, the
other party was buying Bledso's hill for a shade over three
million.

Now, do you perceive the natural result ? Why, the no
blest collection of echoes on earth was forever and ever in
complete, since it possessed but the one-half of the king
echo of the universe. Neither man was content with this
divided ownership, yet neither would sell to the other.
There were jawings, bickerings, heart- burnings. And at
last that other collector, with a malignity which only a col
lector can ever feel toward a man and a brother, proceeded
to cut down his hill !

You see, as long as he could not have the echo, he was
resolved that nobody should have it. He would remove
his hill, and then there would be nothing to reflect my un
cle's echo. My uncle remonstrated with him, but the man
said, " I own one end of this echo; I choose to kill my end;
you must take care of your own end yourself."

Well, my uncle got an injunction put on him. The other
man appealed and fought it in a higher court. They car
ried it on up, clear to the Supreme Court of the United
States. It made no end of trouble there. Two of the
judges believed that an echo was personal property, be
cause it was impalpable to sight and touch, and yet was pur
chasable, salable, and consequently taxable ; two others be-

339

lieved that an echo was real estate, because it was mani
festly attached to the land, and was not removable from
place to place ; other of the judges contended that an echo
was not property at all.

It was finally decided that the echo was property; that
the hills were property ; that the two men were separate
and independent owners of the two hills, but tenants in
common in the echo ; therefore defendant was at full lib
erty to cut down his hill, since it belonged solely to him,
but must give bonds in three million dollars as indemnity
for damages which might result to my uncle's half of the
echo. This decision also debarred my uncle from using
defendant's hill to reflect his part of the echo, without de
fendant's consent; he must use only his own hill; if his
part of the echo would not go, under these circumstances,
it was sad, of course, but the court could find no remedy.
The court also debarred defendant from using my uncle's
hill to reflect his end of the echo, without consent. You
see the grand result ! Neither man would give consent,
and so that astonishing and most noble echo had to cease
from its great powers ; and since that day that magnificent
property is tied up and unsalable.

A week before my wedding-day, while I was still swim
ming in bliss and the nobility were gathering from far and
near to honor our espousals, came news of my uncle's
death, and also a copy of his will, making me his sole heir.
He was gone ; alas, my dear benefactor was no more. The
thought surcharges my heart even at this remote day. I
handed the will to the earl ; I could not read it for the
blinding tears. The earl read it ; then he sternly said, " Sir,
do you call this wealth? — but doubtless you do in your in
flated country. Sir, you are left sole heir to a vast collec
tion of echoes — if a thing can be called a collection that is
scattered far and wide over the huge length and breadth of

34Q

the American continent ; sir, this is not all ; you are head
and ears in debt ; there is not an echo in the lot but has a
mortgage on it ; sir, I am not a hard man, but I must look
to my child's interest; if you had but one echo which you
could honestly call your own, if you had but one echo which
was free from incumbrance, so that you could retire to it
with my child, and by humble, painstaking industry, culti
vate and improve it, and thus wrest from it a maintenance,
I would not say you nay ; but I cannot marry my child to
a beggar. Leave his side, my darling; go, sir, take your
mortgage-ridden echoes and quit my sight forever."

My noble Celestine clung to me in tears, with loving
arms, and swore she would willingly, nay gladly, marry me,
though I had not an echo in the world. But it could not
be. We were torn asunder, she to pine and die within the
twelvemonth, I to toil life's long journey sad and lone,
praying daily, hourly, for that release which shall join us
together again in that dear realm where the wicked cease
from troubling and the weary are at rest. Now, sir, if you
will be so kind as to look at these maps and plans in my
portfolio, I am sure I can sell you an echo for less money
than any man in the trade. Now this one, which cost my
uncle ten dollars, thirty years ago, and is one of the sweet
est things in Texas, I will let you have for —

" Let me interrupt you," I said. " My friend, I have not
had a moment's respite from canvassers this day. I have
bought a sewing-machine which I did not want ; I have
bought a map which is mistaken in all its details ; I have
bought a clock which will not go ; I have bought a moth
poison which the moths prefer to any other beverage ; I
have bought no end of useless inventions, and now I have
had enough of this foolishness. I would not have one of
your echoes if you were even to give it to me. I would not
let it stay on the place. I always hate a man that tries to

34i

sell me echoes. You see this gun ? Now take your collec
tion and move on ; let us not have bloodshed."

But he only smiled a sad, sweet smile, and got out some
more diagrams. You know the result perfectly well, be
cause you know that when you have once opened the door
to a canvasser, the trouble is done and you have got to
suffer defeat.

I compromised with this man at the end of an intolerable
hour. I bought two double-barrelled echoes in good condi
tion, and he threw in another, which he said was not salable
because it only spoke German. He said, " She was a per-
felt polyglot once, but somehow her palate got down."

AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN INTERVIEWER

THE nervous, dapper, " peart " young man took the chair
I offered him, and said he was connected with the Daily
Thunderstorm, and added —

" Hoping it's no harm, I've come to interview you."

" Come to what ?"

"Interview you."

"Ah! I see. Yes— yes. Urn ! Yes— yes."

I was not feeling bright that morning. Indeed, my pow
ers seemed a bit under a cloud. However, I went to the
bookcase, and when I had been looking six or seven min
utes, I found I was obliged to refer to the young man. I
said —

" How do you spell it ?"

"Spell what?"

" Interview."

" Oh my goodness ! what do you want to spell it for ?"

" I don't want to spell it ; I want to see what it means."

" Well, this is astonishing, I must say. / can tell you
what it means, if you — if you — "

" Oh, all right ! That will answer, and much obliged to
you, too."

" In, /», ter, ter, inter — "

" Then you spell it with an If

"Why, certainly!"

" Oh, that is what took me so long."

343

"Why, my dear sir, what did you propose to spell it
with ?"

" Well, I — I — hardly know. I had the Unabridged, and
I was ciphering around in the back end, hoping I might tree
her among the pictures. But it's a very old edition."

" Why, my friend, they wouldn't have a picture of it in
even the latest e — My dear sir, I beg your pardon, I
mean no harm in the world, but you do not look as — as —
intelligent as I had expected you would. No harm — I
mean no harm at all."

" Oh, don't mention it ! It has often been said, and by
people who would not flatter and who could have no in
ducement to flatter, that I am quite remarkable in that way.
Yes — yes i they always speak of it with rapture."

" I can easily imagine it. But about this interview.
You know it is the custom, now, to interview any man who
has become notorious."

" Indeed, I had not heard of it before. It must be very
interesting. What do you do it with ?"

" Ah, well — well — well — this is disheartening. It ought
to be done with a club in some cases ; but customarily it
consists in the interviewer asking questions and the inter
viewed answering them. It is all the rage now. Will you
let me ask you certain questions calculated to bring out the
salient points of your public and private history?"

"Oh, with pleasure — with pleasure. I have a very bad
memory, but I hope you will not mind that. That is to say,
it is an irregular memory — singularly irregular. Some
times it goes in a gallop, and then again it will be as much
as a fortnight passing a given point. This is a great grief
to me."

" Oh, it is no matter, so you will try to do the best you
can."

" I will. I will put my whole mind on it."

344

" Thanks. Are you ready to begin ?"

"Ready."

Q. How old are you ?

A. Nineteen, in June.

Q. Indeed ! I would have taken you to be thirty-five or
six. Where were you born ?

A. In Missouri.

Q. When did you begin to write ?

A. In 1836.

Q. Why, how could that be, if you are only nineteen
now?

A. I don't know. It does seem curious, somehow.

Q. It does, indeed. Whom do you consider the most
remarkable man you ever met ?

A. Aaron Burr.

Q. But you never could have met Aaron Burr, if you are
only nineteen years —

A. Now, if you know more about me than I do, what do
you ask me for ?

Q. Well, it was only a suggestion ; nothing more. How
did you happen to meet Burr?

A. Well, I happened to be at his funeral one day, and
he asked me to make less noise, and —

Q. But, good heavens ! if you were at his funeral, he
must have been dead ; and if he was dead, how could he
care whether you made a noise or not ?

A. I don't know. He was always a particular kind of
a man that way.

Q. Still, I don't understand it at all. You say he spoke
to you, and that he was dead.

A. I didn't say he was dead.

Q. But wasn't he dead ?

A. Well, some said he was, some said he wasn't.

Q. What did you think ?

345

A. Oh, it was none of my business ! It wasn't any of
my funeral.

Q. Did you — However, we can never get this matter
straight. Let me ask about something else. What was the
date of your birth ?

A. Monday, October 3ist, 1693.

Q. What ! Impossible ! That would make you a hun
dred and eighty years old. How do you account for that ?

A. I don't account for it at all.

Q. But you said at first you were only nineteen, and now
you make yourself out to be one hundred and eighty. It
is an awful discrepancy.

A. Why, have you noticed that? (Shaking hands.)
Many a time it has seemed to me like a discrepancy, but
somehow I couldn't make up my mind. How quick you
notice a thing !

Q. Thank you for the compliment, as far as it goes.
Had you, or have you, any brothers or sisters ?

A. Eh! I — I — I think so — yes — but I don't remem
ber.

Q. Well, that is the most extraordinary statement I ever
heard !

A. Why, what makes you think that ?

Q. How could I think otherwise? Why, look here!
Who is this a picture of on the wall ? Isn't that a brother
of yours ?

A. Oh ! yes, yes, yes ! Now you remind me of it ; that
was a brother of mine. That's Williarp — Bill we called
him. Poor old Bill !

<2. Why? Is he dead, then?

A. Ah ! well, I suppose so. We never could tell. There
was a great mystery about it.

Q. That is sad, very sad. He disappeared, then ?

A. Well, yes, in a sort of general way. We buried him.

346

Q. Buried him ! Buried him, without knowing whether
he was dead or not ?

A. Oh, no ! Not that. He was dead enough.

Q. Well, I confess that I can't understand this. If you
buried him, and you knew he was dead —

A. No ! no ! We only thought he was.

Q. Oh, I see ! He came to life again ?

A. I bet he didn't.

Q. Well, I never heard anything like this. Somebody
was dead. Somebody was buried. Now, where was the
mystery ?

A. Ah ! that's just it ! That's it exactly. You see, we
were twins — defunct and I — and we got mixed in the
bath-tub when we were only two weeks old, and one of us
was drowned. But we didn't know which. Some think it
was Bill. Some think it was me.

Q. Well, that is remarkable. What do you think !

A. Goodness knows ! I would give whole worlds to know.
This solemn, this awful mystery has cast a gloom over my
whole life. But I will tell you a secret now, which 1 never
have revealed to any creature before. One of us had a
peculiar mark — a large mole on the back of his left hand ;
that was me. That child was the one that was droumed !

Q. Very well, then, I don't see that there is any mystery
about it, after all.

A. You don't? Well, /do. Anyway, I don't see how
they could ever have been such a blundering lot as to go
and bury the wrong child. But, 'sh ! — don't mention it
where the family can hear of it. Heaven knows they have
heart-breaking troubles enough without adding this.

Q. Well, I believe I have got material enough for the
present, and I am very much obliged to you for the pains
you have taken. But I was a good deal interested in that
account of Aaron Burr's funeral. Would you mind telling

34?

me what particular circumstance it was that made you
think Burr was such a remarkable man ?

A. Oh ! it was a mere trifle ! Not one man in fifty would
have noticed it at all. When the sermon was over, and the
procession all ready to start for the cemetery, and the body
all arranged nice in the hearse, he said he wanted to take
a last look at the scenery, and so he %ot up and rode with
the driver.

Then the young man reverently withdrew. He was very
pleasant company, and 1 was sorry to see him go.

PARIS NOTES*

THE Parisian travels but little, he knows no language
but his own, reads no literature but his own, and conse
quently he is pretty narrow and pretty self-sufficient. How
ever, let us not be too sweeping; there are Frenchmen
who know languages not their own : these are the waiters.
Among the rest, they know English ; that is, they know it
on the European plan — which is to say, they can speak it,
but can't understand it. They easily make themselves un
derstood, but it is next to impossible to word an English
sentence in such a way as to enable them to comprehend it.
They think they comprehend it ; they pretend they do ; but
they don't. Here is a conversation which I had with one
of these beings ; I wrote it down at the time, in order to
have it exactly correct.

/ These are fine oranges. Where are they grown ?

He. More ? Yes, I will bring them.

/. No, do not bring any more ; I only want to know
where they are from — where they are raised.

He. Yes ? (with imperturbable mien, and rising inflec
tion.)

/. Yes. Can you tell me what country they are from ?

* Crowded out of " A Tramp Abroad " to make room for more vital
statistics. — M. T.

349

He. Yes ? (blandly, with rising inflection.)

I. (disheartened). They are very nice.

He. Good-night. (Bows, and retires, quite satisfied with
himself.)

That young man could have become a good English
scholar by taking the right sort of pains, but he was French,
and wouldn't do that. How different is the case with our
people ; they utilize every means that offers. There are
some alleged French Protestants in Paris, and they built a
nice little church on one of the great avenues that lead
away from the Arch of Triumph, and proposed to listen to
the correct thing, preached in the correct way, there, in
their precious French tongue, and be happy. But their lit
tle game does not succeed. Our people are always there
ahead of them, Sundays, and take up all the room. When
the minister gets up to preach, he finds his house full of de
vout foreigners, each ready and waiting, with his little book
in his hand — a morocco -bound Testament, apparently.
But only apparently ; it is Mr. Bellows's admirable and ex
haustive little French-English dictionary, which in look and
binding and size is just like a Testament — and those peo
ple are there to study French. The building has been nick
named "The Church of the Gratis French Lesson."

These students probably acquire more language than
general information, for I am told that a French sermon is
like a French speech — it never names an historical event,
but only the date of it ; if you are not up in dates, you get
left. A French speech is something like this : —

Comrades, citizens, brothers, noble parts of the only sublime and per
fect nation, let us not forget that the 2ist January cast off our chains ;
that the loth August relieved us of the shameful presence of foreign
spies ; that the 5th September was its own justification before Heaven
and humanity ; that the i8th Brumaire contained the seeds of its own
punishment ; that the I4th July was the mighty voice of liberty pro-

claiming the resurrection, the new day, and inviting the oppressed peo
ples of the earth to look upon the divine face of France and live ; and
let us here record our everlasting curse against the man of the 2d Decem
ber, and declare in thunder tones, the native tones of France, that but
for him there had been no lyth March in history, no I2th October, no
igth January, no 22d April, no i6th November, no 3Oth September, no
2d July, no I4th February, no 2gth June, no I5th August, no 3ist May
— that but for him, France, the pure, the grand, the peerless, had had
a serene and vacant almanac to-day !

I have heard of one French sermon which closed in this
odd yet eloquent way : —

My hearers, we have sad cause to remember the man of the I3th Jan
uary. The results of the vast crime of the I3th January have been in
just proportion to the magnitude of the act itself. But for it there had
been no 3oth November — sorrowful spectacle ! The grisly deed of the
i6th June had not been done but for it, nor had the man of the i6th
June known existence ; to it alone the 3d September was due, also the
fatal 1 2th October. Shall we, then, be grateful for the I3th January,
with its freight of death for you and me and all that breathe ? Yes, my
friends, for it gave us also that which had never come but for it, and it
alone — the blessed 25th December.

It may be well enough to explain, though in the case of
many of my readers this will hardly be necessary. The
man of the i3th January is Adam ; the crime of that date
was the eating of the apple ; the sorrowful spectacle of the
3oth November was the expulsion from Eden ; the grisly
deed of the i6th June was the murder of Abel; the act of
the 3d September was the beginning of the journey to the
land of Nod; the i2th day of October, the last mountain-
tops disappeared under the flood. When you go to church
in France, you want to take your almanac with you — anno
tated.

LEGEND OF SAGENFELD, IN GERMANY

MORE than a thousand years ago this small district was
a kingdom — a little bit of a kingdom, a sort of dainty little
toy kingdom, as one might say. It was far removed from
the jealousies, strifes, and turmoils of that old warlike day,
and so its life was a simple life, its people a gentle and
guileless race; it lay always in a deep dream of peace, a
soft Sabbath tranquillity ; there was no malice, there was
no envy, there was no ambition, consequently there were no
heart-burnings, there was no unhappiness in the land.

In the course of time the old king died and his little son
Hubert came to the throne. The people's love for him
grew daily ; he was so good and so pure and so noble, that
by and by this love became a passion, almost a worship.
Now at his birth the soothsayers had diligently studied the
stars and found something written in that shining book to
this effect :—

In Hubert's fourteenth year a pregnant event will happen ;
the animal whose singing shall sound sweetest in Hubert's ear
shall save Huberfs life. So long as the king and the nation

* Left out of "A Tramp Abroad" because its authenticity seemed
doubtful, and could not at that time be proved.— M. T.

352

shall honor this animaVs race for this good deed, the ancient
dynasty shall not fail of an heir, nor the nation know war or
pestilence or poverty. But beware an erring choice !

All through the king's thirteenth year but one thing was
talked of by the soothsayers, the statesmen, the little par
liament, and the general people. That one thing was this :
How is the last sentence of the prophecy to be understood ?
What goes before seems to mean that the saving animal
will choose itself, at the proper time ; but the closing sen
tence seems to mean that the king must choose beforehand,
and say what singer among the animals pleases him best,
and that if he choose wisely the chosen animal will save
his life, his dynasty, his people, but that if he should make
" an erring choice " — beware !

By the end of the year there were as many opinions
about this matter as there had been in the beginning •, but
a majority of the wise and the simple were agreed that the
safest plan would be for the little king to make choice be
forehand, and the earlier the better. So an edict was sent
forth commanding all persons who owned singing creatures
to bring them to the great hall of the palace in the morn
ing of the first day of the new year. This command was
obeyed. When everything was in readiness for the trial,
the king made his solemn entry with the great officers of
the crown, all clothed in their robes of state. The king
mounted his golden throne and prepared to give judgment.
But he presently said —

" These creatures all sing at once ; the noise is unendur
able ; no one can choose in such a turmoil. Take them all
away, and bring back one at a time."

This was done. One sweet warbler after another
charmed the young king's ear and was removed to make
way for another candidate. The precious minutes slipped

353

by ; among so many bewitching songsters he found it hard
to choose, and all the harder because the promised penalty
for an error was so terrible that it unsettled his judgment
and made him afraid to trust his own ears. He grew ner
vous and his face showed distress. His ministers saw this,
for they never took their eyes from him a moment. Now
they began to say in their hearts —

" He has lost courage — the cool head is gone — he will
err — he and his dynasty and his people are doomed !"

At the end of an hour the king sat silent awhile, and
then said —

" Bring back the linnet"

The linnet trilled forth her jubilant music. In the midst
of it the king was about to uplift his sceptre in sign of
choice, but checked himself and said —

" But let us be sure. Bring back the thrush j let them
sing together."

The thrush was brought, and the two birds poured out
their marvels of song together. The king wavered, then
his inclination began to settle and strengthen — one could
see it in his countenance. Hope budded in the hearts of
the old ministers, their pulses began to beat quicker, the
sceptre began to rise slowly, when —

There was a hideous interruption ! It was a sound like
this — just at the door : —

" Waw he / — waw he I — waw-he ! waw-

he ! — waw-he !"

Everybody was sorely startled — and enraged at himself
for showing it.

The next instant the dearest, sweetest, prettiest little
peasant maid of nine years came tripping in, her brown
eyes glowing with childish eagerness ; but when she saw
that august company and those angry faces she stopped and
hung her head and put her poor coarse apron to her eyes.

354

Nobody gave her welcome, none pitied her. Presently she
looked up timidly through her tears, and said —

" My lord the king, I pray you pardon me, for I meant
no wrong. I have no father and no mother, but I have a
goat and a donkey, and they are all in all to me. My goat
gives me the sweetest milk, and when my dear good donkey
brays it seems to me there is no music like to it. So when
my lord the king's jester said the sweetest singer among all
the animals should save the crown and nation, and moved
me to bring him here — "

All the court burst into a rude laugh, and the child fled
away crying, without trying to finish her speech. The chief
minister gave a private order that she and her disastrous
donkey be flogged beyond the precincts of the palace and
commanded to come within them no more.

Then the trial of the birds was resumed. The two birds
sang their best, but the sceptre lay motionless in the king's
hand. Hope died slowly out in the breasts of all. An
hour went by ; two hours ; still no decision. The day
waned to its close, and the waiting multitudes outside the
palace grew crazed wih anxiety and apprehension. The
twilight came on, the shadows fell deeper and deeper. The
king and his court could no longer see each other's faces.
No one spoke — none called for lights. The great trial had
been made ; it had failed ; each and all wished to hide
their faces from the light and cover up their deep trouble
in their own hearts.

Finally — hark ! A rich, full strain of the divinest
melody streamed forth from a remote part of the hall — the
nightingale's voice !

"Up!" shouted the king, "let all the bells make procla
mation to the people, for the choice is made and we have
not erred. King, dynasty, and nation are saved. From
henceforth let the nightingale be honored throughout the

355

land forever. And publish it among all the people that
whosoever shall insult a nightingale, or injure it, shall suffer
death. The king hath spoken."

All that little world was drunk with joy. The castle and
the city blazed with bonfires all night long, the people
danced and drank and sang, and the triumphant clamor of
the bells never ceased.

From that day the nightingale was a sacred bird. Its
song was heard in every house ; the poets wrote its praises;
the painters painted it ; its sculptured image adorned every
arch and turret and fountain and public building. It was
even taken into the king's councils ; and no grave matter
of state was decided until the soothsayers had laid the
thing before the state nightingale and translated to the
ministry what it was that the bird had sung about it.

THE young king was very fond of the chase. When the
summer was come he rode forth with hawk and hound, one
day, in a brilliant company of his nobles. He got separated
from them, by-and-by, in a great forest, and took what he
imagined a near cut, to find them again ; but it was a mis
take. He rode on and on, hopefully at first, but with sink
ing courage finally. Twilight came on, and still he was
plunging through a lonely and unknown land. Then came
a catastrophe. In the dim light he forced his horse through
a tangled thicket overhanging a steep and rocky declivity.
When horse and rider reached the bottom, the former had
a broken neck and the latter a broken leg. The poor little
king lay there suffering agonies of pain, and each hour
seemed a long month to him. He kept his ear strained to
hear any sound that might promise hope of rescue ; but he
heard no voice, no sound of horn or bay of hound. So at
last he gave up all hope, and said, ** Let death come, for
come it must."

Just then the deep, sweet song of a nightingale swept
across the still wastes of the night.

" Saved !" the king said. " Saved ! It is the sacred bird,
and the prophecy is come true. The gods themselves pro
tected me from error in the choice."

He could hardly contain his joy ; he could not word his
gratitude. Every few moments, now, he thought he caught
the sound of approaching succor. But each time it was a

357

disappointment; no succor came. The dull hours drifted
on. Still no help came — but still the sacred bird sang
on. He began to have misgivings about his choice, but he
stifled them. Toward dawn the bird ceased. The morn
ing came, and with it thirst and hunger; but no succor.
The day waxed and waned. At last the king cursed the
nightingale.

Immediately the song of the thrush came from out the
wood. The king said in his heart, " This was the true bird
— my choice was false — succor will come now."

But it did not come. Then he lay many hours insen
sible. When he came to himself, a linnet was singing.
He listened — with apathy. His faith was gone. "These
birds," he said, " can bring no help ; I and my house and
my people are doomed." He turned him about to die ; for
he was grown very feeble from hunger and thirst and suf
fering, and felt that his end was near. In truth, he wanted
to die, and be released from pain. For long hours he lay
without thought or feeling or motion. Then his senses re
turned. The dawn of the third morning was breaking.
Ah, the world seemed very beautiful to those worn eyes.
Suddenly a great longing to live rose up in the lad's
heart, and from his soul welled a deep and fervent prayer
that Heaven would have mercy upon him and let him
see his home and his friends once more. In that in
stant a soft, a faint, a far-off sound, but oh, how inex
pressibly sweet to his waiting ear, came floating out of the
distance —

"Waw he I waw he! waw-he! — waw-he!

— waw-he !"

" That, oh, that song is sweeter, a thousand times sweet
er than the voice of the nightingale, thrush, or linnet, for it
brings not mere hope, but certainty of succor ; and now in
deed am I saved ! The sacred singer has chosen itself, as

358

the oracle intended ; the prophecy is fulfilled, and my life,
my house, and my people are redeemed. The ass shall be
sacred from this day !"

The divine music grew nearer and nearer, stronger and
stronger — and ever sweeter and sweeter to the perishing
sufferer's ear. Down the declivity the docile little donkey
wandered, cropping herbage and singing as he went ; and
when at last he saw the dead horse and the wounded king,
he came and snuffed at them with simple and marvelling
curiosity. The king petted him, and he knelt down as had
been his wont when his little mistress desired to mount.
With great labor and pain the lad drew himself upon
the creature's back, and held himself there by aid of the
generous ears. The ass went singing forth from the place
and carried the king to the little peasant maid's hut. She
gave him her pallet for a bed, refreshed him with goat's
milk, and then flew to tell the great news to the first scout-
ing-party of searchers she might meet.

The king got well. His first act was to proclaim the
sacredness and inviolability of the ass ; his second was to
add this particular ass to his cabinet and make him chief
minister of the crown ; his third was to have all the statues
and effigies of nightingales throughout his kingdom de
stroyed, and replaced by statues and effigies of the sacred
donkey ; and his fourth was to announce that when the lit
tle peasant maid should reach her fifteenth year he would
make her his queen — and he kept his word.

Such is the legend. This explains why the mouldering
image of the ass adorns all these old crumbling walls and
arches ; and it explains why, during many centuries, an ass
was always the chief minister in that royal cabinet, just as
is still the case in most cabinets to this day; and it also
explains why, in that little kingdom, during many centuries,

359

all great poems, all great speeches, all great books, all pub
lic solemnities, and all royal proclamations, always began
with these stirring words —

" Waw he! — waw he! — waw-he ! — waw-

he 1 — waw-he !"

SPEECH ON THE BABIES

AT THE BANQUET, IN CHICAGO, GIVEN BY THE ARMY OF
THE TENNESSEE TO THEIR FIRST COMMANDER, GENERAL
U. S. GRANT, NOVEMBER, 1879.

[The fifteenth regular toast was "The Babies.— As they comfort us
in our sorrows, let us not forget them in our festivities."]

I LIKE that We have not all had the good fortune to
be ladies. We have not all been generals, or poets, or
statesmen ; but when the toast works down to the babies,
we stand on common ground. It is a shame that for a
thousand years the world's banquets have utterly ignored
the baby, as if he didn't amount to anything. If you will
stop and think a minute — if you will go back fifty or one
hundred years to your early married life and recontemplate
your first baby — you will remember that he amounted to a
good deal, and even something over. You soldiers all
know that when that little fellow arrived at family head
quarters you had to hand in your resignation. He took
entire command. You became his lackey, his mere body-
servant, and you had to stand around too. He was not
a commander who made allowances for time, distance;
weather, or anything else. You had to execute his order
-whether it was possible or not. And there was only one
form of marching in his manual of tactics, and that was

the double-quick. He treated you with every sort of in-
science and disrespect, and the bravest of you didn't dare
to say a word. You could face the death-storm at Donelson
and Vicksburg, and give back blow for blow ; but when he
clawed your whiskers, and pulled your hair, and twisted
your nose, you had to take it. When the thunders of war
were sounding in your ears you set your faces toward the
batteries, and advanced with steady tread ; but when he
turned on the terrors of his war-whoop you advanced in the
other direction, and mighty glad of the chance too. When
he called for soothing-syrup, did you venture to throw out
any side remarks about certain services being unbecoming
an officer and a gentleman ? No. You got up and got it.
When he ordered his pap bottle and it was not warm, did
you talk back ? Not you. You went to work and warmed
it. You even descended so far in your menial office as to
take a suck at that warm, insipid stuff yourself, to see if it
was right — three parts water to one of milk, a touch of
sugar to modify the colic, and a drop of peppermint to kill
those immortal hiccoughs. I can taste that stuff yet. And
how many things you learned as you went along ! Senti
mental young folks still take stock in that beautiful old
saying that when the baby smiles in his sleep, it is because
the angels are whispering to him. Very pretty, but too
thin — simply wind on the stomach, my friends. If the
baby proposed to take a walk at his usual hour, two o'clock
in the morning, didn't you rise up promptly and remark,
with a mental addition which would not improve a Sunday-
school book much, that that was the very thing you were
about to propose yourself? Oh! you were under good dis
cipline, and as you went fluttering up and down the room
in your undress uniform, you not only prattled undignified
baby-talk, but even tuned up your martial voices and tried
to sing! — "Rock-a-by baby in the tree-top," for instance.

What a spectacle for an Army of the Tennessee ! And
what an affliction for the neighbors, too ; for it is not every
body within a mile around that likes military music at three
in the morning. And when you had been keeping this sort
of thing up two or three hours, and your little velvet-head
intimated that nothing suited him like exercise and noise,
what did you do ? [" Go on/"] You simply went on until
you dropped in the last ditch. The idea that a baby doesn't
amount to anything! Why, one baby is just a house and a
front yard full by itself. One baby can furnish more busi
ness than you and your whole Interior Department can at
tend to. He is enterprising, irrepressible, brimful of law
less activities. Do what you please, you can't make him
stay on the reservation. Sufficient unto the day is one
baby. As long as you are in your right mind don't you
ever pray for twins. Twins amount to a permanent riot.
And there ain't any real difference between triplets and an
insurrection.

Yes, it was high time for a toast-master to recognize the
importance of the babies. Think what is in store for the
present crop ! Fifty years from now we shall all be dead,
I trust, and then this flag, if it still survive (and let us hope
it may), will be floating over a Republic numbering 200,000-
ooo souls, according to the settled laws of our increase.
Our present schooner of State will have grown into a polit
ical leviathan — a Great Eastern. The cradled babies of to
day will be on deck. Let them be well trained, for we are
going to leave a big contract on their hands. Among the
three or four million cradles now rocking in the land are
some which this nation would preserve for ages as sacred
things, if we could know which ones they are. In one of
these cradles the unconscious Farragut of the future is at
this moment teething — think of it ! — and putting in a world
of dead earnest, unarticulated, but perfectly justifiable pro-

363

fanity over it, too. In another the future renowned astron
omer is blinking at the shining Milky Way with but a lan
guid interest — poor little chap ! — and wondering what has
become of that other one they call the wet-nurse. In an
other the future great historian is lying — and doubtless will
continue to lie until his earthly mission is ended. In an
other the future President is busying himself with no pro-
founder problem of state than what the mischief has become
of his hair so early; and in a mighty array of other cradles
there are now some 60,000 future office-seekers, getting
ready to furnish him occasion to grapple with that same
old problem a second time. And in still one more cradle,
somewhere under the flag, the future illustrious commander-
in-chief of the American armies is so little burdened with
his approaching grandeurs and responsibilities as to be
giving his whole strategic mind at this moment to trying to
find out some way to get his big toe into his mouth — an
achievement which, meaning no disrespect, the illustrious
guest of this evening turned his entire attention to some
fifty-six years ago ; and if the child is but a prophecy of the
man, there are mighty few who will doubt that he succeeded.

SPEECH ON THE WEATHER

AT THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY'S SEVENTY-FIRST ANNUAL
DINNER, NEW YORK CITY.

The next toast was : " The Oldest Inhabitant — The Weather of New
England."

Who can lose it and forget it?
Who can have it and regret it ?

" Be interposer 'twixt us Twain."

Merchant of Venice.

To this Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain) replied as follows : —

I REVERENTLY believe that the Maker who made us all
makes everything in New England but the weather. I
don't know who makes that, but I think it must be raw ap
prentices in the weather-clerk's factory who experiment and
learn how, in New England, for board and clothes, and then
are promoted to make weather for countries that require a
good article, and will take their custom elsewhere if they
don't get it. There is a sumptuous variety about the New
England weather that compels the stranger's admiration —
and regret. The weather is always doing something there ;
always attending strictly to business; always getting up
new designs and trying them on the people to see how they

365

will go. But it gets through more business in spring than
in any other season. In the spring I have counted one
hundred and thirty-six different kinds of weather inside of
four-and-twenty hours. It was I that made the fame and
fortune of that man that had that marvellous collection of
weather on exhibition at the Centennial, that so astounded
the foreigners. He was going to travel all over the world
and get specimens from all the climes. I said, " Don't you
do it; you come to New England on a favorable spring
day." I told him what we could do in the way of style,
variety, and quantity. Well, he came and he made his col
lection in four days. As to variety, why, he confessed that
he got hundreds of kinds of weather that he had never
heard of before. And as to quantity — well, after he had
picked out and discarded all that was blemished in any way,
he not only had weather enough, but weather to spare ;
weather to hire out; weather to sell; to deposit; weather
to invest ; weather to give to the poor. The people of
New England are by nature patient and forbearing, but
there are some things which they will not stand. Every
year they kill a lot of poets for writing about " Beautiful
Spring." These are generally casual visitors, who bring
their notions of spring from somewhere else, and cannot, of
course, know how the natives feel about spring. And so the
first thing they know the opportunity to inquire how they
feel has permanently gone by. Old Probabilities has a
mighty reputation for accurate prophecy, and thoroughly
well deserves it. You take up the paper and observe how
crisply and confidently he checks off what to-day's weather
is going to be on the Pacific, down South, in the Middle
States, in the Wisconsin region. See him sail along in the
joy and pride of his power till he gets to New England, and
then see his tail drop. He doesn't know what the weather
is going to be in New England. Well, he mulls over it,

366

and by-and-by he gets out something about like this : Prob
able northeast to southwest winds, varying to the south
ward and westward and eastward, and points between, high
and low barometer swapping around from place to place;
probable areas of rain, snow, hail, and drought, succeeded
or preceded by earthquakes, with thunder and lightning.
Then he jots down this postscript from his wandering mind,
to cover accidents. " But it is possible that the programme
may be wholly changed in the mean time." Yes, one of the
brightest gems in the New England weather is the dazzling
uncertainty of it. There is only one thing certain about it :
you are certain there is going to be plenty of it — a perfect
grand review ; but you never can tell which end of the pro
cession is going to move first. You fix up for the drought ;
you leave your umbrella in the house and sally out, and
two to one you get drowned. You make up your mind
that the earthquake is due ; you stand from under, and take
hold of something to steady yourself, and the first thing
you know you get struck by lightning. These are great
disappointments; but they can't be helped. The lightning
there is peculiar; it is so convincing, that when it strikes a
thing it doesn't leave enough of that thing behind for you
to tell whether — Well, you'd think it was something valu
able, and a Congressman had been there. And the thun
der. When the thunder begins to merely tune up and
scrape and saw, and key up the instruments for the per
formance, strangers say, "Why, what awful thunder you
have here !" But when the baton is raised and the real
concert begins, you'll find that stranger down in the cellar
with his head in the ash-barrel. Now as to the size of the
weather in New England — lengthways, I mean. It is ut
terly disproportioned to the size of that little country.
Half the time, when it is packed as full as it can stick, you
will see that New England weather sticking out beyond the

edges and projecting around hundreds and hundreds of
miles over the neighboring States. She can't hold a tenth
part of her weather. You can see cracks all about where
she has strained herself trying to do it. I could speak
volumes about the inhuman perversity of the New England
weather, but I will give but a single specimen. I like to
hear rain on a tin roof. So I covered part of my roof with
tin, with an eye to that luxury. Well, sir, do you think it
ever rains on that tin? No, sir ; skips it every time. Mind,
in this speech I have been trying merely to do honor to
the New England weather — no language could do it justice.
But, after all, there is at least one or two things about that
weather (or, if you please, effects produced by it) which we
residents would not like to part with. If we hadn't our be
witching autumn foliage, we should still have to credit the
weather with one feature which compensates for all its bully
ing vagaries — the ice-storm : when a leafless tree is clothed
with ice from the bottom to the top — ice that is as bright
and clear as crystal ; when every bough and twig is strung
with ice -beads, frozen dew-drops, and the whole tree
sparkles cold and white, like the Shah of Persia's diamond
plume. Then the wind waves the branches and the sun
comes out and turns all those myriads of beads and drops
to prisms that glow and burn and flash with all manner of
colored fires, which change and change again with incon
ceivable rapidity from blue to red, from red to green, and
green to gold — the tree becomes a spraying fountain, a very
explosion of dazzling jewels ; and it stands there the acme,
the climax, the supremest possibility in art or nature, of be
wildering, intoxicating, intolerable magnificence. One can
not make the words too strong.

CONCERNING THE AMERICAN LAN
GUAGE*

THERE was an Englishman in our compartment, and he
complimented me on — on what? But you would never
guess. He complimented me on my English. He said
Americans in general did not speak the English language
as correctly as I did. I said I was obliged to him for his
compliment, since I knew he meant it for one, but that I
was not fairly entitled to it, for I did not speak English at
all — I only spoke American.

He laughed, and said it was a distinction without a dif
ference. I said no, the difference was not prodigious, but
still it was considerable. We fell into a friendly dispute
over the matter. I put my case as well as I could, and
said —

"The languages were identical several generations ago,
but our changed conditions and the spread of our people
far to the south and far to the west have made many alter
ations in our pronunciation, and have introduced new words
among us and changed the meanings of many old ones.
English people talk through their noses ; we do not. We
say know, English people say ndo ; we say cow, the Briton
says kdow ; we — "

* Being part of a chapter which was crowded out of "A Tramp
Abroad."— M. T.

"Oh, come! that is pure Yankee; everybody knows
that."

"Yes, it is pure Yankee ; that is true. One cannot hear
it in America outside of the little corner called New Eng
land, which is Yankee land. The English themselves plant
ed it there, two hundred and fifty years ago, and there it re
mains ; it has never spread. But England talks through her
nose yet ; the Londoner and the backwoods New-England-
er pronounce * know ' and ' cow ' alike, and then the Briton
unconsciously satirizes himself by making fun of the Yan
kee's pronunciation."

We argued this point at some length ; nobody won ; but
no matter, the fact remains — Englishmen say ndo and kdow
for "know" and "cow," and that is what the rustic inhab
itant of a very small section of America does.

" You conferred your a upon New England, too, and there
it remains; it has not travelled out of the narrow limits of
those six little States in all these two hundred and fifty
years. All England uses it, New England's small popula
tion — say four millions — use it, but we have forty-five mill
ions who do not use it. You say * glahs of wawtah,' so
does New England ; at least, New England says glahs.
America at large flattens the a, and says 'glass of water.'
These sounds are pleasanter than yours ; you may think
they are not right — well, in English they are not right, but
in ' American ' they are. You say flahsk, and bahsket, and
jackahss ; we say flask,' 'basket,' 'jackass1 — sounding
the a as it is in ' tallow,' * fallow, and so on. Up to as late
as 1847 Mr. Webster's Dictionary had the impudence to
still pronounce 'basket ' bahsket, when he knew that outside
of his little New England all America shortened the a and
paid no attention to his English broadening of it. How
ever, it called itself an English Dictionary, so it was proper
enough that it should stick to English forms, perhaps.

37Q

It still calls itself an English Dictionary to-day, but it has
quietly ceased to pronounce ' basket * as if it were spelt
bahsket. In the American language the h is respected ; the
h is not dropped or added improperly."

"The same is the case in England — I mean among the
educated classes, of course."

" Yes, that is true ; but a nation's language is a very large
matter. It is not simply a manner of speech obtaining
among the educated handful; the manner obtaining among
the vast uneducated multitude must be considered also.
Your uneducated masses speak English, you will not deny
that; our uneducated masses speak American — it won't be
fair for you to deny that, for you can see, yourself, that when
your stable-boy says, * It isn't the 'unting that 'urts the 'orse,
but the 'ammer, 'ammer, 'ammer on the 'ard 'ighway,' and
our stable-boy makes the same remark without suffocating
a single h, these two people are manifestly talking two dif
ferent languages. But if the signs are to be trusted, even
your educated classes used to drop the h. They say hum
ble, now, and heroic, and historic, etc., but I judge that they
used to drop those ^'s because your writers still keep up
the fashion of putting an before those words, instead of a.
This is what Mr. Darwin might call a 'rudimentary' sign
that an an was justifiable once, and useful — when your edu
cated classes used to say Bumble, and ''eroic, and 'istorical.
Correct writers of the American language do not put an be
fore those words."

The English gentleman had something to say upon this
matter, but never mind what he said — I'm not arguing his
case. I have him at a disadvantage, now. I proceeded : —

" In England you encourage an orator by exclaiming
' H'yaah ! h'yaah !' We pronounce it heer in some sections,
'ttyer' in others, and so on; but our whites do not say
'h'yaah,' pronouncing the a's like the a in ah. I have

37i

heard English ladies say : don't you ' — making two separate
and distinct words of it ; your Mr. Burnand has satirized
it. But we always say 'dontchu.' This is much better.
Your ladies say, ' Oh, it's 0ful nice !' Ours say, * Oh, it's
awful nice!' We say, ' Four hundred,' you say 'For' — as
in the word or. Your clergymen speak of * the Lawd,' ours
of 'the Lord;' yours speak of 'the gawds of the heathen/
ours of * the gods of the heathen.' When you are exhaust
ed, you say you are c knocked up.' We don't. When you
say you will do a thing ' directly,' you mean ' immediately ';
in the American language — generally speaking — the word
signifies ' after a little.' When you say ' clever,' you mean
* capable ' ; with us the word used to mean ' accommodat
ing,' but I don't know what it means now. Your word
'stout' means 'fleshy'; our word stout' usually means
'strong.' Your words 'gentleman ; and ' lady' have a very
restricted meaning; with us they include the bar-maid,
butcher, burglar, harlot, and horse- thief. You say, 'I
haven't got any stockings on, ' I haven't got any memory,'
' I haven't got any money in my purse '; we usually say, ' I
haven't any stockings on,' ' I haven't any memory,' ' I
haven't any money in my purse/ You say 'out of win
dow ;' we always put in a the. If one asks ' How old is
that man ?' the Briton answers ' He will be about forty ;'
in the American language, we should say, ' He is about
forty.' However, I won't tire you, sir ; but if I wanted
to, I could pile up differences here until I not only con
vinced you that English and American are separate lan
guages, but that when I speak my native tongue in its
utmost purity an Englishman can't understand me at
all."

" I don't wish to flatter you, but it is about all I can do
to understand you now"

That was a very pretty compliment, and it put us on the

372

pleasantest terms directly — I use the word in the English
sense.

are

\Later— 1882. Esthetes in many of our schools
now beginning to teach the pupils to broaden the a, and to
say "don't you," in the elegant foreign way.]

ROGERS

THIS man Rogers happened upon me and introduced

himself at the town of , in the South of England, where

I stayed awhile. His step-father had married a distant rela
tive of mine who was afterwards hanged, and so he seemed
to think a blood relationship existed between us. He came
in every day and sat down and talked. Of all the bland,
serene human curiosities I ever saw, I think he was the
chiefest. He desired to look at my new chimney-pot hat.
I was very willing, for I thought he would notice the name
of the great Oxford Street hatter in it, and respect me ac
cordingly. But he turned it about with a sort of grave
compassion, pointed out two or three blemishes, and said
that I, being so recently arrived, could not be expected to
know where to supply myself. Said he would send me the
address of his hatter. Then he said, " Pardon me," and
proceeded to cut a neat circle of red tissue-paper ; daintily
notched the edges of it ; took the mucilage and pasted it
in my hat so as to cover the manufacturer's name. He
said, "No one will know now where you got it. I will send
you a hat-tip of my hatter, and you can paste it over this
tissue circle." It was the calmest, coolest thing — I never
admired a man so much in my life. Mind, he did this
while his own hat sat offensively near our noses, on the
table — an ancient extinguisher of the " slouch " pattern,

374

limp and shapeless with age, discolored by vicissitudes of
the weather, and banded by an equator of bear's grease
that had stewed through.

Another time he examined my coat. I had no terrors,
for over my tailor's door was the legend, " By Special Ap
pointment Tailor to H. R. H. the Prince of Wales," etc. I
did not know at the time that the most of the tailor shops
had the same sign out, and that whereas it takes nine
tailors to make an ordinary man, it takes a hundred and
fifty to make a prince. He was full of compassion for my
coat. Wrote down the address of his tailor for me. Did
not tell me to mention my nom de plume and the tailor
would put his best work on my garment, as complimentary
people sometimes do, but said his tailor would hardly
trouble himself for an unknown person (unknown person,
when I thought I was so celebrated in England ! — that was
the cruelest cut), but cautioned me to mention his name,
and it would be all right. Thinking to be facetious, I
said —

" But he might sit up all night and injure his health."

"Well, let him," said Rogers; "I've done enough for
him, for him to show some appreciation of it."

I might as well have tried to disconcert a mummy with
my facetiousness. Said Rogers : " I get all my coats there
— they're the only coats fit to be seen in."

I made one more attempt. I said, " I wish you had
brought one with you — I would like to look at it."

"Bless your heart, haven't I got one on ? — this article is
Morgan's make."

I examined it. The coat had been bought ready-made,
of a Chatham Street Jew, without any question — about 18481
It probably cost four dollars when it was new. It was
ripped, it was frayed, it was napless and greasy. I could
not resist showing him where it was ripped. It so affected

375

him that I was almost sorry I had done it. First he seemed
plunged into a bottomless abyss of grief. Then he roused
himself, made a feint with his hands as if waving off the
pity of a nation, and said — with what seemed to me a
manufactured emotion — "No matter; no matter; don't
mind me; do not bother about it. I can get another."

When he was thoroughly restored, so that he could ex
amine the rip and command his feelings, he said, ah, now
he understood it — his servant must have done it while
dressing him that morning.

His servant! There was something awe-inspiring in
effrontery like this.

Nearly every day he interested himself in some article of
my clothing. One would hardly have expected this sort of
infatuation in a man who always wore the same suit, and it
a suit that seemed coeval with the Conquest.

It was an unworthy ambition, perhaps, but I did wish I
could make this man admire something about me or some
thing I did — you would have felt the same way. I saw
my opportunity : I was about to return to London, and had
" listed " my soiled linen for the wash. It made quite an
imposing mountain in the corner of the room — fifty -four
pieces. I hoped he would fancy it was the accumulation
of a single week. I took up the wash-list, as if to see that
it was all right, and then tossed it on the table, with pre
tended forgetfulness. Sure enough, he took it up and ran
his eye along down to the grand total. Then he said, " You
get off easy," and laid it down again.

His gloves were the saddest ruin, but he told me where
I could get some like them. His shoes would hardly hold
walnuts without leaking, but he liked to put his feet up on
the mantel-piece and contemplate them. He wore a dim
glass breastpin, which he called a " morphylitic diamond"
— whatever that may mean — and said only two of them had

376

ever been found — the Emperor of China had the other
one.

Afterward, in London, it was a pleasure to me to see this
fantastic vagabond come marching into the lobby of the
hotel in his grand-ducal way, for he always had some new
imaginary grandeur to develop — there was nothing stale
about him but his clothes. If he addressed me when
strangers were about, he always raised his voice a little
and called me "Sir Richard," or "General," or "Your
Lordship" — and when people began to stare and look def
erential, he would fall to inquiring in a casual way why I
disappointed the Duke of Argyll the night before; and
then remind me of our engagement at the Duke of West
minster's for the following day. I think that for the time
being these things were realities to him. He once came
and invited me to go with him and spend the evening with
the Earl of Warwick at his town house. I said I had re
ceived no formal invitation. He said that that was of no
consequence, the Earl had no formalities for him or his
friends. I asked if I could go just as I was. He said no,
that would hardly do ; evening dress was requisite at night
in any genHeman's house. He said he would wait while I
dressed, and then we would go to his apartments and I
could take a bottle of champagne and a cigar while he
dressed. I was very willing to see how this enterprise
would turn out, so I dressed, and we started to his lodg
ings. He said if I didn't mind we would walk. So we
tramped some four miles through the mud and fog, and
finally found his " apartments ;" they consisted of a single
room over a barber's shop in a back street. Two chairs, a
small table, an ancient valise, a wash-basin and pitcher
(both on the floor in a corner), an unmade bed, a fragment
of a looking-glass, and a flower-pot with a perishing little
rose geranium in it, which he called a century plant, and

377

said it had not bloomed now for upwards of two centuries
— given to him by the late Lord Palmerston — (been offered
a prodigious sum for it) — these were the contents of the
room. Also a brass candlestick and part of a candle.
Rogers lit the candle, and told me to sit down and make
myself at home. He said he hoped I was thirsty, because
he would surprise my palate with an article of champagne
that seldom got into a commoner's system ; or would I pre
fer sherry, or port ? Said he had port in bottles that were
swathed in stratified cobwebs, every stratum representing
a generation. And as for his cigars — well, I should judge
of them myself. Then he put his head out at the door and
called—

" Sackville !" No answer.

" Hi !— Sackville !" No answer.

" Now what the devil can have become of that butler ? I
never allow a servant to — Oh, confound that idiot, he's got
the keys. Can't get into the other rooms without the keys."

(I was just wondering at his intrepidity in still keeping
up the delusion of the champagne, and trying to imagine
how he was going to get out of the difficulty.)

Now he stopped calling Sackville and began to call
" Anglesy." But Anglesy didn't come. He said, " This is
the second time that that equerry has been absent without
leave. To-morrow I'll discharge him."

Now he began to whoop for "Thomas," but Thomas didn't
answer. Then for " Theodore," but no Theodore replied.

"Well, I give it up," said Rogers. "The servants never
expect me at this hour, and so they're all off on a lark.
Might get along without the equerry and the page, but
can't have any wine or cigars without the butler, and can't
dress without my valet."

1 offered to help him dress, but he would not hear of it ;
and besides, he said he would not feel comfortable unless

378

dressed by a practised hand. However, he finally con
cluded that he was such old friends with the Earl that it
would not make any difference how he was dressed. So we
took a cab, he gave the driver some directions, and we
started. By and-by we stopped before a large house and
got out. I never had seen this man with a collar on. He
now stepped under a lamp and got a venerable paper collar
out of his coat-pocket, along with a hoary cravat, and put
them on. He ascended the stoop, and entered. Presently
he reappeared, descended rapidly, and said —

" Come— quick !"

We hurried away, and turned the corner.

" Now we're safe," he said, and took off his collar and
cravat and returned them to his pocket.

" Made a mighty narrow escape," said he.

" How ?" said I.

" B' George, the Countess was there !"

" Well, what of that ?— don't she know you ?"

" Know me ? Absolutely worships me. I just did hap
pen to catch a glimpse of her before she saw me — and out
I shot. Haven't seen her for two months — to rush in on
her without any warning might have been fatal. She could
not have stood it. I didn't know she was in town — thought
she was at the castle. Let me lean on you — just a moment
— there ; now I am better — thank you ; thank you ever so
much. Lord bless me, what an escape !"

So I never got to call on the Earl after all. But I marked
his house for future reference. It proved to be an ordinary
family hotel, with about a thousand plebeians roosting in it.

In most things Rogers was by no means a fool. In
some things it was plain enough that he was a fool, but he
certainly did not know it. He was in the " deadest " ear
nest in these matters. He died at sea, last summer, as the
" Earl of Ramsgate."

THE LOVES OF ALONZO FITZ CLARENCE
AND ROSANNAH ETHELTON

IT was well along in the forenoon of a bitter winter's day.
The town of Eastport, in the State of Maine, lay buried
under a deep snow that was newly fallen. The customary
bustle in the streets was wanting. One could look long
distances down them and see nothing but a dead -white
emptiness, with silence to match. Of course I do not
mean that you could see the silence — no, you could only
hear it. The sidewalks were merely long, deep ditches,
with steep snow walls on either side. Here and there you
might hear the faint, far scrape of a wooden shovel, and if
you were quick enough you might catch a glimpse of a dis
tant black figure stooping and disappearing in one of those
ditches, and reappearing the next moment with a motion
which you would know meant the heaving out of a shovel
ful of snow. But you needed to be quick, for that black
figure would not linger, but would soon drop that shovel
and scud for the house, thrashing itself with its arms to
warm them. Yes, it was too venomously cold for snow-
shovellers or anybody else to stay out long.

Presently the sky darkened ; then the wind rose and be
gan to blow in fitful, vigorous gusts, which sent clouds of
powdery snow aloft, and straight ahead, and everywhere.
Under the impulse of one of these gusts, great white drifts

banked themselves like graves across the streets ; a mo
ment later, another gust shifted them around the other
way, driving a fine spray of snow from their sharp crests,
as the gale drives the spume flakes from wave-crests at sea ;
a third gust swept that place as clean as your hand, if it
saw fit. This was fooling, this was play ; but each and all
of the gusts dumped some snow into the sidewalk ditches,
for that was business.

Alonzo Fitz Clarence was sitting in his snug and elegant
little parlor, in a lovely blue silk dressing-gown, with cuffs
and facings of crimson satin, elaborately quilted. The re
mains of his breakfast were before him, and the dainty and
costly little table service added a harmonious charm to the
grace, beauty, and richness of the fixed appointments of
the room. A cheery fire was blazing on the hearth.

A furious gust of wind shook the windows, and a great
wave of snow washed against them with a drenching sound,
so to speak. The handsome young bachelor murmured —

" That means, no going out to-day. Well, I am content.
But what to do for company ? Mother is well enough, Aunt
Susan is well enough ; but these, like the poor, I have with
me always. On so grim a day as this, one needs a new in
terest, a fresh element, to whet the dull edge of captivity.
That was very neatly said, but it doesn't mean anything.
One doesn't want the edge of captivity sharpened up, you
know, but just the reverse."

He glanced at his pretty French mantel-clock.

" That clock's wrong again. That clock hardly ever
knows what time it is ; and when it does know, it lies about
it — which amounts to the same thing. Alfred !"

There was no answer.

"Alfred! . . . Good servant, but as uncertain as the
clock."

Alonzo touched an electric-bell button in the wall. He

waited a moment, then touched it again ; waited a few mo
ments more, and said —

" Battery out of order, no doubt. But now that I have
started, I will find out what time it is." He stepped to
a speaking - tube in the wall, blew its whistle, and called,
" Mother !" and repeated it twice.

"Well, that's no use. Mother's battery is out of order,
too. Can't raise anybody down-stairs — that is plain."

He sat down at a rosewood desk, leaned his chin on the
left-hand edge of it, and spoke, as if to the floor: "Aunt
Susan !"

A low, pleasant voice answered, " Is that you, Alonzo ?"

" Yes. I'm too lazy and comfortable to go down-stairs ;
I am in extremity, and I can't seem to scare up any help."

" Dear me, what is the matter ?"

" Matter enough, I can tell you !"

" Oh, don't keep me in suspense, dear ! What is it ?"

" I want to know what time it is."

" You abominable boy, what a turn you did give me ! Is
that all?"

" All — on my honor. Calm yourself. Tell me the time,
and receive my blessing."

"Just five minutes after nine. No charge — keep your
blessing."

"Thanks. It wouldn't have impoverished me, aunty, nor
so enriched you that you could live without other means."
He got up, murmuring, " Just five minutes after nine," and
faced his clock. "Ah," said he, "you are doing better
than usual. You are only thirty-four minutes wrong. Let
me see ... let me see. . . . Thirty-three and twenty-one
are fifty -four; four times fifty -four are two hundred and
thirty-six. One off, leaves two hundred and thirty-five.
That's right."

He turned the hands of his clock forward till they marked

25 TS

382

twenty-five minutes to one, and said, " Now see if you can't
keep right for a while . . . else I'll raffle you !"

He sat down at the desk again, and said, " Aunt Susan 1"

" Yes, dear."

" Had breakfast ?"

'•' Yes indeed, an hour ago."

" Busy ?"

" No — except sewing. Why ?"

"Got any company?"

" No, but I expect some at half-past nine."

" I wish / did. I'm lonesome. I want to talk to some
body."

"Very well, talk to me."

"But this is very private."

"Don't be afraid — talk right along, there's nobody here
but me."

" I hardly know whether to venture or not, but — "

" But what? Oh, don't stop there ! You know you can
trust me, Alonzo — you know you can."

" I feel it, aunt, but this is very serious. It affects me deep
ly — me, and all the family — even the whole community."

" Oh, Alonzo, tell me ! I will never breathe a word of it.
What is it?"

" Aunt, if I might dare-—"

" Oh, please go on ! I love you, and feel for you. Tell
me all. Confide in me. What is it ?"

"The weather!"

"Plague take the weather! I don't see how you can
have the heart to serve me so, Lon."

"There, there, aunty dear, I'm sorry; I am, on my honor.
I won't do it again. Do you forgive me ?"

"Yes, since you seem so sincere about it, though I know
I oughtn't to. You will fool me again as soon as I have
forgotten this time."

* No, I won't, honor bright. But such weather, oh, such
weather ! You've got to keep your spirits up artificially.
It is snowy, and blowy, and gusty, and bitter cold ! How
is the weather with you ?"

" Warm and rainy and melancholy. The mourners go
about the streets with their umbrellas running streams from
the end of every whalebone. There's an elevated double
pavement of umbrellas stretching down the sides of the
streets as far as I can see. I've got a fire for cheerfulness,
and the windows open to keep cool. But it is vain, it is
useless: nothing comes in but the balmy breath of De
cember, with its burden of mocking odors from the flowers
that possess the realm outside, and rejoice in their lawless
profusion whilst the spirit of man is low, and flaunt their
gaudy splendors in his face whilst his soul is clothed in
sackcloth and ashes and his heart breaketh."

Alonzo opened his lips to say, " You ought to print that,
and get it framed," but checked himself, for he heard his
aunt speaking to some one else. He went and stood at the
window and looked out upon the wintry prospect. The
storm was driving the snow before it more furiously than
ever , window-shutters were slamming and banging ; a for
lorn dog, with bowed head and tail withdrawn from ser
vice, was pressing his quaking body against a windward
wall for shelter and protection , a young girl was ploughing
knee-deep through the drifts, with her face turned from the
blast, and the cape of her water-proof blowing straight rear
ward over her head. Alonzo shuddered, and said with a
sigh, " Better the slop, and the sultry rain, and even the in
solent flowers, than this !"

He turned from the window, moved a step, and stopped
in a listening attitude. The faint, sweet notes of a familiar
song caught his ear. He remained there, with his head un
consciously bent forward, drinking in the melody, stirring

384

neither hand nor foot, hardly breathing. There was a "blem
ish in the execution of the song, but to Alonzo it seemed
an added charm instead of a defect. This blemish consist
ed of a marked flatting of the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and
seventh notes of the refrain or chorus of the piece. When
the music ended, Alonzo drew a deep breath, and said,
"Ah, I never have heard 'In the Sweet By-and-by' sung
like that before !"

He stepped quickly to the desk, listened a moment, and
said in a guarded, confidential voice, " Aunty, who is this
divine singer ?"

" She is the company I was expecting. Stays with me a
month or two. I will introduce you. Miss — "

" For goodness' sake, wait a moment, Aunt Susan ! You
never stop to think what you are about !"

He flew to his bed-chamber, and returned in a moment
perceptibly changed in his outward appearance, and re
marking, snappishly —

" Hang it, she would have introduced me to this angel in
that sky-blue dressing-gown with red-hot lapels 1 Women
never think, when they get a-going."

He hastened and stood by the desk, and said eagerly,
"Now, Aunty, I am ready," and fell to smiling and bow
ing with all the persuasiveness and elegance that were in
him."

" Very well. Miss Rosannah Ethelton, let me introduce
to you my favorite nephew, Mr. Alonzo Fitz Clarence.
There ! You are both good people, and I like you ; so I
am going to trust you together while I attend to a few
household affairs. Sit down, Rosannah ; sit down, Alonzo.
Good-by ; I sha'n't be gone long."

Alonzo had been bowing and smiling all the while, and
motioning imaginary young ladies to sit down in imaginary
chairs, but now he took a seat himself, mentally saying,

385

" Oh, this is luck ! Let the winds blow now, and the snow
drive, and the heavens frown ! Little I care !"

While these young people chat themselves into an ac
quaintanceship, let us take the liberty of inspecting the
sweeter and fairer of the two. She sat alone, at her grace
ful ease, in a richly furnished apartment which was mani
festly the private parlor of a refined and sensible lady, if
signs and symbols may go for anything. For instance, by
a low, comfortable chair stood a dainty, top-heavy work-
stand, whose summit was a fancifully embroidered shal
low basket, with varicolored crewels, and other strings and
odds and ends, protruding from under the gaping lid and
hanging down in negligent profusion. On the floor lay
bright shreds of Turkey red, Prussian blue, and kindred
fabrics, bits of ribbon, a spool or two, a pair of scissors,
and a roll or so of tinted silken stuffs. On a luxurious
sofa, upholstered with some sort of soft Indian goods
wrought in black and gold threads interwebbed with other
threads not so pronounced in color, lay a great square of
coarse white stuff, upon whose surface a rich bouquet of
flowers was growing, under the deft cultivation of the cro
chet needle. The household cat was asleep on this work
of art. In a bay-window stood an easel with an unfinished
picture on it, and a palette and brushes on a chair beside
it. There were books everywhere: Robertson's Sermons,
Tennyson, Moody and Sankey, Hawthorne, " Rab and his
Friends," cook-books, prayer-books, pattern - books — and
books about all kinds of odious and exasperating pottery,
of course. There was a piano, with a deck-load of music,
and more in a tender. There was a great plenty of pictures
on the walls, on the shelves of the mantel-piece, and around
generally ; where coigns of vantage offered were statuettes,
and quaint and pretty gimcracks, and rare and costly speci-
Dens of peculiarly devilish china. The bay-window gave

j86_

upon a garden that was ablaze with foreign and domestic
flowers and flowering shrubs.

But the sweet young girl was the daintiest thing these
premises, within or without, could offer for contemplation ;
delicately chiselled features, of Grecian cast ; her complex
ion the pure snow of a japonica that is receiving a faint
reflected enrichment from some scarlet neighbor of the
garden ; great, soft blue eyes fringed with long, curving
lashes; an expression made up of the trustfulness of a
child and the gentleness of a fawn ; a beautiful head
crowned with its own prodigal gold ; a lithe and rounded
figure, whose every attitude and movement were instinct
with native grace.

Her dress and adornment were marked by that exquisite
harmony that can come only of a fine natural taste perfect
ed by culture. Her gown was of a simple magenta tulle,
cut bias, traversed by three rows of light blue flounces,
with the selvage edges turned up with ashes-of-roses che
nille ; overdress of dark bay tarlatan, with scarlet satin
lambrequins; corn-colored polonaise, en panier, looped with
mother-of-pearl buttons and silver cord, and hauled aft and
made fast by buff-velvet lashings ; basque of lavender reps,
picked out with Valenciennes ; low neck, short sleeves; ma
roon-velvet necktie edged with delicate pink silk ; inside
handkerchief of some simple three-ply ingrain fabric of a
soft saffron tint ; coral bracelets and locket-chain ; coiffure
of forget-me-nots and lilies of the valley massed around a
noble calla.

This was all ; yet even in this subdued attire she was
divinely beautiful. Then what must she have been when
adorned for the festival or the ball ?

All this time she had been busily chatting with Alonzo,
unconscious of our inspection. The minutes still sped, and
still she talked. But by-and-by she happened to look up,

387

and saw the clock. A crimson blush sent its rich flood
through her cheeks, and she exclaimed—

"There, good-by, Mr. Fitz Clarence; I must go now!"

She sprang from her chair with such haste that she
hardly heard the young man's answering good-by. She
stood radiant, graceful, beautiful, and gazed, wondering,
upon the accusing clock. Presently her pouting lips part
ed, and she said—

" Five minutes after eleven ! Nearly two hours, and it
did not seem twenty minutes ! Oh, dear, what will he think
of me !"

At the self-same moment Alonzo was staring at his clock.
And presently he said —

"Twenty-five minutes to three! Nearly two hours, and
I didn't believe it was two minutes ! Is it possible that
this clock is humbugging again ? Miss Ethelton ! Just
one moment, please. Are you there yet ?"

" Yes, but be quick ; I'm going right away."

"Would you be so kind as to tell me what time it
is?"

The girl blushed again, murmured to herself, " It's right
down cruel of him to ask me !" and then spoke up and an
swered with admirably counterfeited unconcern, " Five min
utes after eleven."

" Oh, thank you ! You have to go, now, have you?"

" Yes."

" I'm sorry."

No reply.

" Miss Ethelton !"

"Well?"

" You — you're there yet, ain't you ?"

"Yes ; but please hurry. What did you want to say?"

"Well, I — well, nothing in particular. It's very lonesome
here. It's asking a great deal, I know, but would you mind

talking with me again by -and -by — that is, if it will not
trouble you too much ?"

" I don't know— but I'll think about it. I'll try."

" Oh, thanks ! Miss Ethelton ? ... Ah me, she's gone,
and here are the black clouds and the whirling snow and
the raging winds come again ! But she said good-by ! She
didn't say good-morning, she said good-by ! . . . The clock
was right, after all. What a lightning-winged two hours it
was !"

He sat down, and gazed dreamily into his fire for a while,
then heaved a sigh and said —

" How wonderful it is ! Two little hours ago I was a
free man, and now my heart's in San Francisco !"

About that time Rosannah Ethelton, propped in the
window-seat of her bed-chamber, book in hand, was gazing
vacantly out over the rainy seas that washed the Golden
Gate, and whispering to herself, " How different he is from
poor Burley, with his empty head and his single little antic
talent of mimicry 1"

FOUR weeks later Mr. Sidney Algernon Burley was enter
taining a gay luncheon company, in a sumptuous drawing-
room on Telegraph Hill, with some capital imitations of
the voices and gestures of certain popular actors and San
Franciscan literary people and Bonanza grandees. He was
elegantly upholstered, and was a handsome fellow, barring
a trifling cast in his eye. He seemed very jovial, but never
theless he kept his eye on the door with an expectant and
uneasy watchfulness. By-and-by a nobby lackey appeared,
and delivered a message to the mistress, who nodded her
head understandingly. That seemed to settle the thing for
Mr. Burley; his vivacity decreased little by little, and a de
jected look began to creep into one of his eyes and a sin
ister one into the other.

The rest of the company departed in due time, leaving
him with the mistress, to whom he said —

" There is no longer any question about it. She avoids
me. She continually excuses herself. If I could see her,
if I could speak to her only a moment — but this sus
pense—"

" Perhaps her seeming avoidance is mere accident, Mr.
Burley. Go to the small drawing-room up-stairs and amuse
yourself a moment. I will despatch a household order
that is on my mind, and then I will go to her room. With
out doubt she will be persuaded to see you."

Mr. Burley went up-stairs, intending to go to the small
drawing-room, but as he was passing " Aunt Susan's" private

39Q

parlor, the door of which stood slightly ajar, he heard a
joyous laugh which he recognized ; so without knock or
announcement he stepped confidently in. But before he
could make his presence known he heard words that har
rowed up his soul and chilled his young blood. He heard
a voice say —

" Darling, it has come !"

Then he heard Rosannah Ethelton, whose back was
toward him, say —

" So has yours, dearest !"

He saw her bowed form bend lower ; he heard her kiss
something — not merely once, but again and again! His
soul raged within him. The heart-breaking conversation
went on —

"Rosannah, I knew you must be beautiful, but this is
dazzling, this is blinding, this is intoxicating !"

" Alonzo, it is such happiness to hear you say it. I know
it is not true, but I am so grateful to have you think it is,
nevertheless! I knew you must have a noble face, but the
grace and majesty of the reality beggar the poor creation of
my fancy."

Burley heard that rattling shower of kisses again.

" Thank you, my Rosannah ! The photograph flatters
me, but you must not allow yourself to think of that.
Sweetheart ?"

" Yes, Alonzo."

" I am so happy, Rosannah."

" Oh, Alonzo, none that have gone before me knew what
love was, none that come after me will ever know what hap
piness is. I float in a gorgeous cloudland, a boundless fir-
manent of enchanted and bewildering ecstasy !"

" Oh, my Rosannah ! — for you are mine, are you not ?"

"Wholly, oh, wholly yours, Alonzo, now and forever!
All the day long, and all through my nightly dreams, one

39i

song sings itself, and its sweet burden is, c Alonzo fritz
Clarence, Alonzo Fitz Clarence, Eastport, State of Maine!' *

" Curse him, I've got his address, anyway !" roared Bur-
ley, inwardly, and rushed from the place.

Just behind the unconscious Alonzo stood his mother, a
picture of astonishment. She was so muffled from head to
heel in furs that nothing of 'herself was visible but her eyes
and nose. She was a good allegory of winter, for she was
powdered all over with snow.

Behind the unconscious Rosannah stood " Aunt Susan,"
another picture of astonishment. She was a good allegory
of summer, for she was lightly clad, and was vigorously
cooling the perspiration on her face with a fan.

Both of these women had tears of joy in their eyes.

"So ho!" exclaimed Mrs. Fitz Clarence, "this explains
why nobody has been able to drag you out of your room
for six weeks, Alonzo !"

" So ho 1" exclaimed Aunt Susan, " this explains why you
have been a hermit for the past six weeks, Rosannah !"

The young couple were on their feet in an instant,
abashed, and standing like detected dealers in stolen goods
awaiting Judge Lynches doom.

" Bless you, my son ! I am happy in your happiness.
Come to your mother's arms, Alonzo !"

"Bless you, Rosannah, for my dear nephew's sake!
Come to my arms !"

Then was there a mingling of hearts and of tears of re
joicing on Telegraph Hill and in Eastport Square.

Servants were called by the elders, in both places. Unto
one was given the order, "Pile this fire high with hickory
wood, and bring me a roasting hot lemonade."

Unto the other was given the order, " Put out this fire,
and bring me two palm -leaf fans and a pitcher of ice-

392

Then the young people were dismissed, and the elders
sat down to talk the sweet surprise over and make the
wedding plans.

Some minutes before this Mr. Burley rushed from the
mansion on Telegraph Hill without meeting or taking for
mal leave of anybody. He hissed through his teeth, in un
conscious imitation of a popular favorite in melodrama,
" Him shall she never wed ! I have sworn it ! Ere great
Nature shall have doffed her winter's ermine to don the
emerald gauds of spring, she shall be mine 1"

Ill

Two weeks later. Every few hours, during some three or
four days, a very prim and devout-looking Episcopal clergy
man, with a cast in his eye, had visited Alonzo. Accord
ing to his card, he was the Rev. Melton Hargrave, of Cin
cinnati. He said he had retired from the ministry on
account of his health. If he had said on account of ill-
health, he would probably have erred, to judge by his whole
some looks and firm build. He was the inventor of an
improvement in telephones, and hoped to make his bread
by selling the privilege of using it. " At present," he con
tinued, " a man may go and tap a telegraph wire which is
conveying a song or a concert from one State to another,
and he can attach his private telephone and steal a hear
ing of that music as it passes along. My invention will
stop all that."

" Well," answered Alonzo, " if the owner of the music
could not miss what was stolen, why should he care?"

" He shouldn't care," said the Reverend.

"Well?" said Alonzo, inquiringly.

" Suppose," replied the Reverend, " suppose that, instead
of music that was passing along and being stolen, the bur
den of the wire was loving endearments of the most private
and sacred nature ?"

Alonzo shuddered from head to heel. " Sir, it is a
priceless invention," said he ; "I must have it at any cost."

But the invention was delayed somewhere on the road
from Cincinnati, most unaccountably. The impatient Alonzo

394

could hardly wait. The thought of Rosannah's sweet
words being shared with him by some ribald thief was gall
ing to him. The Reverend came frequently and lamented
the delay, and told of measures he had taken to hurry
things up. This was some little comfort to Alonzo.

One forenoon the Reverend ascended the stairs and
knocked at Alonzo's door. There was no response. He
entered, glanced eagerly around, closed the door softly,
then ran to the telephone. The exquisitely soft and re
mote strains of the "Sweet By- and -by" came floating
through the instrument. The singer was flatting, as usual,
the five notes that follow the first two in the chorus, when
the Reverend interrupted her with this word, in a voice
which was an exact imitation of Alonzo's, with just the
faintest flavor of impatience added —

"Sweetheart?"

" Yes, Alonzo ?"

" Please don't sing that any more this week — try some
thing modern."

The agile step that goes with a happy heart was heard on
the stairs, and the Reverend, smiling diabolically, sought
sudden refuge behind the heavy folds of the velvet win
dow - curtains. Alonzo entered and flew to the telephone.
Said he—

"Rosannah, dear, shall we sing something together?"

" Something modern ?" asked she, with sarcastic bitter
ness.

" Yes, if you prefer."

" Sing it yourself, if you like !"

This snappishness amazed and wounded the young man.
He said —

" Rosannah, that was not like you."

" I suppose it becomes me as much as your very polite
speech became you, Mr. Fitz Clarence."

395

"Mister Fitz Clarence! Rosannah, there was nothing
impolite about my speech."

" Oh, indeed ! Of course, then, I misunderstood you, and
I most humbly beg your pardon, ha-ha-ha ! No doubt you
said, ' Don't sing it any more to-day' "

" Sing what arty more to-day ?"

" The song you mentioned, of course. How very obtuse
we are, all of a sudden !"

"I never mentioned any song."

"Oh, you didn't r

"No, I didn't r

" I am compelled to remark that you did}1

"And I am obliged to reiterate that I didn't"

" A second rudeness ! That is sufficient, sir. I will
never forgive you. All is over between us."

Then came a muffled sound of crying. Alonzo hastened
to say —

"Oh, Rosannah, unsay those words! There is some
dreadful mystery here, some hideous mistake. I am utter
ly earnest and sincere when I say I never said anything
about any song. I would not hurt you for the whole
world . . . Rosannah, dear ? . . . Oh, speak to me, won't
you ?"

There was a pause ; then Alonzo heard the girl's sob
bings retreating, and knew she had gone from the tele
phone. He rose with a heavy sigh, and hastened from the
room, saying to himself, " I will ransack the charity mis
sions and the haunts of the poor for my mother. She will
persuade her that I never meant to wound her."

A minute later, the Reverend was crouching over the
telephone like a cat that knoweth the ways of the prey.
He had not very many minutes to wait. A soft, repentant
voice, tremulous with tears, said —

"Alonzo, dear, I have been wrong. You could not have

396

said so cruel a thing. It must have been some one who imi
tated your voice in malice or in jest"

The Reverend coldly answered, in Alonzo's tones —

" You have said all was over between us. So let it be. I
spurn your proffered repentance, and despise it!"

Then he departed, radiant with fiendish triumph, to re
turn no more with his imaginary telephonic invention for
ever.

Four hours afterward, Alonzo arrived with his mother
from her favorite haunts of poverty and vice. They sum
moned the San Francisco household ; but there was no re
ply. They waited, and continued to wait, upon the voice
less telephone.

At length, when it was sunset in San Francisco, and
three hours and a half after dark in Eastport, an answer
came to the oft-repeated cry of " Rosannah !"

But, alas, it was Aunt Susan's voice that spake. She
said —

" I have been out all day ; just got in. I will go and
find her."

The watchers waited two minutes — five minutes — ten
minutes. Then came these fatal words, in a frightened
tone —

" She is gone, and her baggage with her. To visit anoth
er friend, she told the servants. But I found this note on
the table in her room. Listen : ' I am gone ; seek not to
trace me out ; my heart is broken ; you will never see me
more. Tell him I shall always think of him when I sing
my poor "Sweet By-and-by," but never of the unkind
words he said about it.' That is her note. Alonzo, Alon
zo, what does it mean ? What has happened ?"

But Alonzo sat white and cold as the dead. His mother
threw back the velvet curtains and opened a window. The
cold air refreshed the sufferer, and he told his aunt his dis-

397

mal story. Meantime his mother was inspecting a card
which had disclosed itself upon the floor when she cast the
curtains back. It read, " Mr. Sidney Algernon Burley, San
Francisco."

"The miscreant !" shouted Alonzo, and rushed forth to
seek the false Reverend and destroy him ; for the card ex
plained everything, since in the course of the lovers' mutual
confessions they had told each other all about all the sweet
hearts they had ever had, and thrown no end of mud at
their failings and foibles — for lovers always do that. It
has a fascination that ranks next after billing and cooing.

•6*1

DURING the next two months many things happened. It
had early transpired that Rosannah, poor suffering orphan,
had neither returned to her grandmother in Portland, Ore
gon, nor sent any word to her save a duplicate of the woful
note she had left in the mansion on Telegraph Hill. Who
soever was sheltering her — if she was still alive — had been
persuaded not to betray her whereabouts, without doubt ;
for all efforts to find trace of her had failed.

Did Alonzo give her up ? Not he. He said to himself,
" She will sing that sweet song when she is sad ; I shall
find her.1' So he took his carpet sack and a portable tele
phone, and shook the snow of his native city from his arc
tics, and went forth into the world. He wandered far and
wide and in many States. Time and again, strangers were
astounded to see a wasted, pale, and woe-worn man labori
ously climb a telegraph-pole in wintry and lonely places,
perch sadly there an hour, with his ear at a little box, then
come sighing down, and wander wearily away. Some
times they shot at him, as peasants do at aeronauts, think
ing him mad and dangerous. Thus his clothes were much
shredded by bullets and his person grievously lacerated.
But he bore it all patiently.

In the beginning of his pilgrimage he used often to say,
"Ah, if I could but hear the 'Sweet By-and-by!'" But
toward the end of it he used to shed tears of anguish and
say, "Ah, if I could but hear something else !"

Thus a month and three weeks drifted by, and at last

399

some humane people seized him and confined him in a pri
vate mad-house in New York. He made no moan, for his
strength was all gone, and with it all heart and all hope.
The superintendent, in pity, gave up his own comfortable
parlor and bedchamber to him and nursed him with affec
tionate devotion.

At the end of a week the patient was able to leave his
bed for the first time. He was lying, comfortably pillowed,
on a sofa, listening to the plaintive Miserere of the bleak
March winds, and the muffled sound of tramping feet in the
street below — for it was about six in the evening, and New
York was going home from work. He had a bright fire
and the added cheer of a couple of student lamps. So it
was warm and snug within, though bleak and raw without ;
it was light and bright within, though outside it was as dark
and dreary as if the world had been lit with Hartford gas.
Alonzo smiled feebly to think how his loving vagaries had
made him a maniac in the eyes of the world, and was pro
ceeding to pursue his line of thought further, when a faint,
sweet strain, the very ghost of sound, so remote and atten
uated it seemed, struck upon his ear. His pulses stood
still; he listened with parted lips and bated breath. The
song flowed on — he waiting, listening, rising slowly and
unconsciously from his recumbent position. At last he ex
claimed—

" It is ! it is she ! Oh, the divine flatted notes !"

He dragged himself eagerly to the corner whence the
sounds proceeded, tore aside a curtain, and discovered a
telephone. He bent over, and as the last note died away
he burst forth with the exclamation —

" Oh, thank Heaven, found at last ! Speak to me, Rosan-
nah, dearest ! The cruel mystery has been unravelled ; it
was the villain Burley who mimicked my voice and wound
ed you with insolent speech !"

4oo

There was a breathless pause, a waiting age to Alonzo;
then a faint sound came, framing itself into language —

" Oh, say those precious words again, Alonzo !"

"They are the truth, the veritable truth, my Rosan-
nah, and you shall have the proof, ample and abundant
proof!"

" Oh, Alonzo, stay by me ! Leave me not for a moment !
Let me feel that you are near me ! Tell me we shall never
be parted more ! Oh, this happy hour, this blessed hour,
this memorable hour !"

" We will make record of it, my Rosannah ; every year, as
this dear hour chimes from the clock, we will celebrate it
with thanksgivings, all the years of our life."

" We will, we will, Alonzo !"

"Four minutes after six, in the evening, my Rosannah,
shall henceforth—"

" Twenty-three minutes after twelve, afternoon, shall — "

" Why, Rosannah, darling, where are you ?"

" In Honolulu, Sandwich Islands. And where are you ?
Stay by me ; do not leave me for a moment. I cannot
bear it. Are you at home ?"

" No, dear, I am in New York — a patient in the doctor's
hands."

An agonizing shriek came buzzing to Alonzo's ear, like
the sharp buzzing of a hurt gnat ; it lost power in travelling
five thousand miles. Alonzo hastened to say —

" Calm yourself, my child. It is nothing. Already I am
getting well under the sweet healing of your presence.
Rosannah ?"

" Yes, Alonzo ? Oh, how you terrified me ! Say on."

"Name the happy day, Rosannah!"

There was a little pause. Then a diffident small voice
replied, "I blush — but it is with pleasure, it is with happi
ness. Would— would you like to have it soon ?"

401

"This very night, Rosannah ! Oh, let us risk no more
delays. Let it be now !— this very night, this very moment !"
" Oh, you impatient creature ! I have nobody here but
my good old uncle, a missionary for a generation, and now
retired from service — nobody but him and his wife. I
would so dearly like it if your mother and your aunt
Susan—"

" Our mother and our aunt Susan, my Rosannah."
" Yes, our mother and our aunt Susan — I am content to
word it so if it pleases you ; I would so like to have them
present."

" So would I. Suppose you telegraph Aunt Susan.
How long would it take her to come ?"

" The steamer leaves San Francisco day after to-morrow.
The passage is eight days. She would be here the 3ist of
March."

"Then name the ist of April: do, Rosannah, dear."
" Mercy, it would make us April fools, Alonzo !"
" So we be the happiest ones that that day's sun looks
down upon in the whole broad expanse of the globe, why
need we care ? Call it the first of April, dear."

"Then the ist of April it shall be, with all my heart!"
" Oh, happiness ! Name the hour, too, Rosannah."
" I like the morning, it is so blithe. Will eight in the
morning do, Alonzo ?"

" The loveliest hour in the day — since it will make you
mine."

There was a feeble but frantic sound for some little time,
as if wool -lipped, disembodied spirits were exchanging
kisses; then Rosannah said, "Excuse me just a moment,
dear ; I have an appointment, and am called to meet it."

The young girl sought a large parlor and took her place
at a window which looked out upon a beautiful scene. To
the left one could view the charming Nuuana Valley, fringed

4O2

with its ruddy flush of tropical flowers and its plumed and
graceful cocoa palms ; its rising foot-hills clothed in the
shining green of lemon, citron, and orange groves ; its
storied precipice beyond, where the first Kamehameha
drove his defeated foes over to their destruction — a spot
that had forgotten its grim history, no doubt, for now it
was smiling, as almost always at noonday, under the glow
ing arches of a succession of rainbows. In front of the win
dow one could see the quaint town, and here and there a
picturesque group of dusky natives, enjoying the blistering
weather ; and far to the right lay the restless ocean, tossing
its white mane in the sunshine.

Rosannah stood there, in her filmy white raiment, fan
ning her flushed and heated face, waiting. A Kanaka boy,
clothed in a damaged blue necktie and part of a silk hat,
thrust his head in at the door, and announced, " 'Frisco
haokr

" Show him in," said the girl, straightening herself up
and assuming a meaning dignity. Mr. Sidney Algernon
Burley entered, clad from head to heel in dazzling snow —
that is to say, in the lightest and whitest of Irish linen.
He moved eagerly forward, but the girl made a gesture and
gave him a look which checked him suddenly. She said,
coldly, "I am here, as I promised. I believed your asser
tions, I yielded to your importunities, and said I would
name the day. I name the ist of April — eight in the
morning. Now go !"

" Oh, my dearest, if the gratitude of a lifetime — "

" Not a word. Spare me all sight of you, all communica
tion with you, until that hour. No — no supplications ; I
will have it so."

When he was gone, she sank exhausted in a chair, for
the long siege of troubles she had undergone had wasted
her strength. Presently she said, "What a narrow escape!

403

If the hour appointed had been an hour earlier — Oh, hor
ror, what an escape I have made ! And to think I had
come to imagine I was loving this beguiling, this truth
less, this treacherous monster! Oh, he shall repent his
villany !"

Let us now draw this history to a close, for little more
needs to be told. On the 2d of the ensuing April, the
Honolulu Advertiser contained this notice : —

MARRIED.— In this city, by telephone, yesterday morning, at eight
o'clock, by Rev. Nathan Hays, assisted by Rev. Nathaniel Davis, of
New York, Mr. Alonzo Fitz Clarence, of Eastport, Maine, U. S., and
Miss Rosannah Ethelton, of Portland, Oregon, U. S. Mrs. Susan
Rowland, of San Francisco, a friend of the bride, was present, she
being the guest of the Rev. Mr. Hays and wife, uncle and aunt of
the bride. Mr. Sidney Algernon Burley, of San Francisco, was also
present, but did not remain till the conclusion of the marriage service.
Captain Hawthorne's beautiful yacht, tastefully decorated, was in wait
ing, and the happy bride and her friends immediately departed on a
bridal trip to Lahaina and Haleakala.

The New York papers of the same date contained this
notice : —

MARRIED. — In this city, yesterday, by telephone, at half -past two in
the morning, by Rev. Nathaniel Davis, assisted by Rev. Nathan Hays,
of Honolulu, Mr. Alonzo Fitz Clarence, of Eastport, Maine, and Miss
Rosannah Ethelton, of Portland, Oregon. The parents and several
friends of the bridegroom were present, and enjoyed a sumptuous
breakfast and much festivity until nearly sunrise, and then departed
on a bridal trip to the Aquarium, the bridegroom's state of health not
admitting of a more extended journey.

Toward the close of that memorable day, Mr. and Mrs.
Alonzo Fitz Clarence were buried in sweet converse con
cerning the pleasures of their several bridal tours, when
suddenly the young wife exclaimed : " Oh, Lonny, I forgot !
I did what I said I would,"

4Q4

" Did you, dear ?"

" Indeed I did. I made him the April fool ! And I told
him so, too ! Ah, it was a charming surprise ! There he
stood, sweltering in a black dress suit, with the mercury
leaking out of the top of th,e thermometer, waiting to be
married. You should have seen the look he gave when I
whispered it in his ear ! Ah, his wickedness cost me many
a heartache and many a tear, but the score was all squared
up, then. So the vengeful feeling went right out of my
heart, and I begged him to stay, and said I forgave him
everything. But he wouldn't. He said he would live to be
avenged ; said he would make our lives a curse to us. But
he can't, can he, dear?"

" Never in this world, my Rosannah !"

Aunt Susan, the Oregonian grandmother, and the young
couple and their Eastport parents, are all happy at this
writing, and likely to remain so. Aunt Susan brought tr^e
bride from the Islands, accompanied her across our conti
nent, and had the happiness of witnessing the rapturous
meeting between an adoring husband and wife who had
never seen each other until that moment.

A word about the wretched Burley, whose wicked mach
inations came so near wrecking the hearts and lives of our
poor young friends, will be sufficient. In a murderous
attempt to seize a crippled and helpless artisan who he
fancied had done him some small offence, he fell into a
caldron of boiling oil and expired before he could be ex
tinguished.

MAP OF PARIS

TO THE READER

THE accompanying map explains itself.

The idea of this map is not original with me, but is bor
rowed from the great metropolitan journals.

I claim no other merit for this production (if I may so
call it) than that it is accurate. The main blemish of the
city paper maps, of which it is an imitation, is that in them
more attention seems paid to artistic picturesqueness than
geographical reliability.

Inasmuch as this is the first time I ever tried to draft
and engrave a map, or attempted anything in any line of
art, the commendations the work has received and the ad
miration it has excited among the people, have been very
grateful to my feelings. And it is touching to reflect that
by far the most enthusiastic of these praises have come
from people who knew nothing at all about art.

By an unimportant oversight I have engraved the map so
that it reads wrong end first, except to left-handed people.
I forgot that in order to make it right in print, it should be
drawn and engraved upside down. However, let the student
who desires to contemplate the map stand on his head or
hold it before a looking-glass. That will bring it right.

The reader will comprehend at a glance that that piece
of river with the " High Bridge " over it got left out to one

4Q6

side by reason of a slip of the graving-tool, which rendered
it necessary to change the entire course of the River Rhine,
or else spoil the map. After having spent two days in dig
ging and gouging at the map, I would have changed the
course of the Atlantic Ocean before I would lose so much
work.

I never had so much trouble with anything in my life as
I had with this map. I had heaps of little fortifications
scattered all around Paris at first, but every now and then
my instruments would slip and fetch away whole miles of
batteries, and leave the vicinity as clean as if the Prussians
had been there.

The reader will find it well to frame this map for future
reference, so that it may aid in extending popular intelli
gence, and in dispelling the wide-spread ignorance of the
day.

MARK TWAIN.

OFFICIAL COMMENDATIONS
It is the only map of the kind I ever saw.

U. S. GRANT.

It places the situation in an entirely new light.

BISMARCK.

I cannot look upon it without shedding tears.

BRIGHAM YOUNG.

It is very nice large print.

NAPOLEON.

My wife was for years afflicted with freckles, and, though everything
was done for her relief that could be done, all was in vain. But, sir,
since her first glance at your map, they have entirely left her. She has
nothing but convulsions now,

J. SMITH,

408

If I had had this map, I could have got out of Metz without any
trouble.

BAZAINE.

I have seen a great many maps in my time, but none that this one
reminds me of.

TROCHU.

It is but fair to say that in some respects it is a truly remarkable
map.

W. T. SHERMAN.

I said to my son Frederick William, "If you could only make a
map like that, I should be perfectly willing to see you die — even
anxious."

WILLIAM III.

LETTER READ AT A DINNER

OF THE KNIGHTS OF ST. PATRICK

HARTFORD, CT., March 16, 1876.
To THE CHAIRMAN:

DEAR SIR, — I am very sorry that I cannot be with the
Knights of St. Patrick to-morrow evening. In this cen
tennial year we ought to find a peculiar pleasure in doing
honor to the memory of a man whose good name has en
dured through fourteen centuries. We ought to find pleas
ure in it for the reason that at this time we naturally have
a fellow-feeling for such a man. He wrought a great work
in his day. He found Ireland a prosperous republic, and
looked about him to see if he might find some useful thing
to turn his hand to. He observed that the president of
that republic was in the habit of sheltering his great offi
cials from deserved punishment, so he lifted up his staff
and smote him, and he died. He found that the secretary
of war had been so unbecomingly economical as to have
laid up $12,000 a year out of a salary of $8000, and he killed
him. He found that the secretary of the interior always
prayed over every separate and distinct barrel of salt beef
that was intended for the unconverted savage, and then
kept that beef himself, so he killed him also. He found

4io

that the secretary of the navy knew more about handling
suspicious claims than he did about handling a ship, and he
at once made an end of him. He found that a very foul
private secretary had been engineered through a sham trial,
so he destroyed him. He discovered that the congress
which pretended to prodigious virtue was very anxious to
investigate an ambassador who had dishonored the country
abroad, but was equally anxious to prevent the appoint
ment of any spotless man to a similar post; that this con
gress had no God but party ; no system of morals but party
policy; no vision but a bat's vision; and no reason or
excuse for existing anyhow. Therefore he massacred that
congress to the last man.

When he had finished his great work, he said, in his
figurative way, " Lo, I have destroyed all the reptiles in
Ireland."

St. Patrick had no politics ; his sympathies lay with the
right — that was politics enough. When he came across a
reptile, he forgot to inquire whether he was a democrat or
a republican, but simply exalted his staff and "let him have
it." Honored be his name — I wish we had him here to
trim us up for the centennial. But that cannot be. His
staff, which was the symbol of real, not sham reform, is
idle. However, we still have with us the symbol of Truth
— George Washington's little hatchet — for I know where
they've buried it.

Yours truly,

MARK TWAIN.

THE END

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